


Orchids

by faketreefinger



Category: CSI: Crime Scene Investigation
Genre: Drama, F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-07
Updated: 2016-08-21
Packaged: 2018-07-29 20:50:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 24,546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7698919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/faketreefinger/pseuds/faketreefinger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sara's past collides with her present when a former lover from Boston reappears in her life as a suspect in a homicide investigation. Sara-centric with heavy dose of GSR.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> There are no spoilers. Place this whenever you think Grissom and Sara first got together. I wouldn't necessarily call this a "case file" because I am not confident in the procedural part of the story. Mainly, it's my exploration of Sara's past and her particular reasons for being how she is throughout the series. 
> 
> Though this is a WIP, all chapters (there are about 7) are actually done being written. They are just being polished one by one. Any feedback is greatly appreciated, but I am just happy you are reading. Thanks for the support!

 

_Call you up in the middle of the night_

_Like a firefly without a light_

_You were there like a blowtorch burning_

_I was a key that could use a little turning_

_**Soul Asylum** _

 

* * *

 

 

The heavy air was cruel, sinking over her. Her clothing stuck to her body like a wet plastic bag. Sara huffed and pulled her curling hair back into a sloppy bun. She’d only been in the room for thirty minutes and already sweat was rolling down her back, putting her on edge.

“It’s been a while since I experienced humidity like this,” Sara exclaimed, standing up and wiping her brow with the back of her gloved hand.

“It’s stifling,” Grissom agreed, his eyes scanning the room.

A woman had been found dead in the Las Vegas Conservatory and Botanical Garden, specifically in the orchid room. The woman’s stiff and bloodied body was a sharp contrast to the alluringly colorful flowers surrounding her. The heavy air and smell of dank earth and copper drowned out the floral scent of the orchids, but it was still a beautiful room to behold.

Philodendrons and nerve plants surrounded a small pool filled with orange spotted koi fish. A small waterfall could be heard, the slow trickling sound attempting to wash away whatever violence had occurred in the room. Peppered throughout the room were various orchids. Some looked fantastical, like they were plucked from Alice’s Wonderland, some were mundane and lovely in their simplicity. Some were planted in the ground, some crawled up trees. They all looked fragile and priceless.

“Okay, David, the body’s all yours,” Grissom called out to the assistant coroner lurking on the other side of the dome-shaped room. “Mind the shoe prints by the victims right side.”

Once the body was moved, the clacking sounds of the gurney fading in the distance, Sara could see what the dead woman had been laying on. She sighed pitifully.

“What a shame. Squashed,” Sara said, kneeling down and photographing the decimated lilac-pink petals in front of her.

“Pleione formosana.”

Sara’s eyes shot up, her brow wrinkling in question. Grissom crouched next to her, his leg pressing firmly against hers. Her stomach did a small leap at the unexpected contact.

“Pardon?”

“Peacock orchids.” His voice was low and he looked at her, eyes soft. He was touching her on purpose, she realized, and she nudged his knee with hers playfully.

“A botanist, now,” she said, with a grin. “Why am I not surprised?”

Grissom leaned over and pulled away one of the broken orchids. He twisted it in his hand thoughtfully and extended it to her, mouth quirked upward.

“No. My dad was, though.”

Grissom’s certain brand of romance, when he wasn’t stilted and confused, was heart-swelling and sometimes even amusing. For a moment, she forgot that they both reeked of musky sweat and that the flower he was giving her had a bloody dead body on it only moments ago. So, she took the flower and offered him a lopsided grin. He winked at her and stood up, walking over to the other side of the crushed flowers.

“Really?” she said after a moment, slipping the orchid into an evidence bag. “I learn something new about you every day.”

She looked up to see him shrug, eyes on the domed ceiling. “Isn’t that how it’s supposed to be? When two people are…” he trailed off and Sara’s heart skipped a beat, maybe two. Her eyes widened and stilled over the ground in front of her.

They had yet to approach what they were to one another and she hardly felt prepared.

She glanced up at him. He looked slightly chagrin and she watched his Adam’s apple bob as he gave a hard swallow. His discomfort, which he was failing to hide, suddenly became humorous. She pressed her lips together, dampening a grin at his expense.

“You were saying?”

He cleared his throat loudly, the sound muted in the damp room. “Ah…well…”

“About your dad, Griss. He was a botanist? That must have been pretty cool.”

“Oh,” he shook his head slightly, as if to clear it, “Yes, it was. He kept a greenhouse in our backyard. He experimented with orchid hybridization. Taught me a thing or two.”

Sara smiled, picturing a little curly-haired Gilbert side-by-side with his father, his small hands in the dirt. She already knew his father died when he was little and she got the feeling it was a difficult subject to discuss, not that she didn’t understand. Stories of her past were never forthcoming and he never prodded. If it weren’t such an awkward thing to do, she would thank him for sharing.

“So you know what some of these orchids are?”

“Most. Probably.”

“Alright,” she drawled out, sizing him up, “That one?” She pointed to a white flower with fuchsia speckles.

Grissom walked over to the flower and considered it, pursing his lips, studying. “Moth orchid.”

Sara beamed at him. “Impressive.”

His intelligence and vast array of knowledge never ceased to amaze her. Every time he taught her something new, his attractiveness increased exponentially. Pushing back the urge to grab him by his department-issued vest and kiss him, she bit her lip and looked away.

Detective Vartan’s voice interrupted her reverie abruptly, “ _Jesus_ it’s hot in here!” She looked up to see him loosening his neck tie. He went to prop the door open with a chair when Grissom interrupted him.

“Don’t do that. The plants need the humidity.”

“You’re serious?” Vartan asked, incredulous. Sara ducked her head to hide her smile, finding it humorous that the detective was the least bit surprised. Grissom stared at him blankly, blinked slowly, and Sara wanted to kiss him again.

Vartan shrugged it off, waving a hand in the air. “Whatever. Vic’s name is Dr. Sabrina Eubank. She’s the president of this place.”

“The president?” Grissom asked, interest piqued.

“Apparently there was a private tour of the facility being conducted by the director. All the guests are in the lobby waiting. One of them found the body. Coming with?”

Sara and Grissom both nodded, welcoming the reprieve from the clammy room.

The air-conditioned air hit her mercifully as she entered the lobby and it chilled the back of her exposed neck. Eyes scanned the slumped forms of the five people who had been at the conservatory when the body was discovered. They all looked agitated, tired, and nerve-wracked, when her gaze landed on a man leaning against the wall, eyes glazed and hands in pockets. She gasped audibly, freezing in her steps.

Grissom noticed her sudden stop. "You okay?"

She spun on her heels to look squarely at him.

“Grissom, I know that guy over there. The one in the blue blazer,” she whispered, unable to keep her eyebrows from knitting together in concern. It wasn’t a situation she ever wanted to find herself in, nor did she ever think she would.

“Know him how?” She watched his eyes drift over her shoulder, surveying the man in question.

She shifted uncomfortably, eyes darting to the side. “We were involved.”

His eyebrows shot up quickly. “Huh. I learn something new about you everyday,” he quipped.

“Very funny,” Sara deadpanned. “What do you want me to do?”

He frowned in thought, his eyebrows raising at whatever he was telling himself. “Let’s go take his statement.” He shrugged casually and brushed past her, as if her admission had meant nothing.

Turning back around, head down, Sara bit the inside of her cheek and mentally prepared for her past to collide with her present.

 

**xxx**

 

“Oh my God, _Sara_?"

“Luke,” she answered plainly, a conceding of the bizarre moment that was occurring. A tight smile was all she could muster. His face was of shock and disbelief, the feelings she was hiding so clearly written on his face. “Good to see you," she lied.

It had been many years since she’d seen him, but his features were the basically the same. His face was slightly harder, strawberry blond hair shorter. His beard was cropped and neat, contradicting her memory of him as an endearingly sloppy and languid youth. He smelled the same, a faint but masculine cologne that immediately made her feel twenty again. His attire was sharp and mature, having shed the grungy style of the early 90’s.

Sara swallowed nervously and glanced at Grissom. His face was impassive and relaxed.

“Luke, this is Gil Grissom. We’re from criminalistics. We’re hear to talk to you about—”

“The dead woman they just rolled out of here, yeah I figured.” Luke shook his head, brow wrinkled, true bewilderment. “I cannot believe you’re standing in front of me right now.”

The sound of his voice, the way it could pull her into the past startled her and she shook her head to move past it. “I know, it’s weird… and I’m sorry we’re meeting again under these circumstances.” The words were formal and felt uncomfortable in her mouth, like an itchy Christmas sweater she was forced to wear.

“So… what? You’re in law enforcement now? That’s just… I can’t even — ”

Grissom interrupted, his hand halting in the air, “Look, Mister…”

“Walsh.”

“Mr. Walsh, I’m sure you two will have plenty of time to catch up but for now, if you don’t mind, we’d like to hear what you have to say about the, ah... _dead woman they just rolled out of here_.” Grissom’s said impatiently.

“Right, sorry.” He paused and his hand ran through his beard. “I don’t know much. I was walking through the facility with everyone else in this room. We were in the sensory garden, having some wine, when Linda — another guest — decided to walk into the orchid room. She screamed and we all came running, and there was Dr. Eubank, dead on the ground. I didn’t even know she was here tonight.”

“Why was there an after-hours tour being conducted?” Grissom asked him.

Luke gave a self conscious grin and the look he shot Sara was far too intimate for comfort, as if he were afraid of her judgement. “The director gets us all together.” He nodded in the direction of the man Vartan was interviewing. “Wines and dines us. Spends and hour or so trying to convince us to stroke a check, you get the picture. I come up here once a year to see what kind of advancements the conservatory has made.”

His embarrassment made Sara uneasy, but she didn’t know why. Irritatingly, she had a stream of questions for Luke — none of them pertaining to the case. The idea that Luke Walsh was a financial backer for a botanical garden in Las Vegas was exhausting her, like a mathematical concept she couldn’t line up in her head.

“Did anyone leave the tour earlier in the evening? Wander around alone?” Sara asked.

“Not that I remember. She must have been dead before we got here. None of us had even been in the orchid room, yet.”

“Okay,” Grissom said, after a moment of contemplation, “We’re gonna need to get your fingerprints and a sample of your DNA.”

Luke glanced at Sara, a cheerless grin forming in disbelief. “You think I did this?”

“It’s to rule you out.” Sara said, an accidentally consoling quality in her voice. She could feel Grissom watching her and it made her hot under the collar. “We’ll be asking the same thing of everyone else in this room.”

This seemed to ease him a bit and he nodded slowly, leaning back against the wall and sliding his hands in his pockets. He looked like he needed a cigarette. “Okay, fine.”

“Oh and Mr. Walsh…” Grissom said, “We’ll need your shoes, too.”

 

**xxx**

 

Before Sara could begin collecting evidence from the witnesses, Grissom beckoned her to follow him into the decorative show room where they could be alone. The blue and green glass of the ceiling threw kaleidoscopic shadows on his face. He was looking at her tenderly, a look she rarely saw in the hours of their work life.

“Perhaps it would be best if you didn’t handle any evidence until we clear your… friend.” His tone was unassertive and it seemed like he was asking her opinion on the matter, instead of telling her what to do.

“Grissom, he’s not my friend. I haven’t seen him in so long, I doubt I know him much better than you do.”

The statement was weak and it didn’t convince him. She could tell by the way his eyes narrowed on her. She felt like a writhing bug trying to flee from under his microscope, which unsettled her deeply. He was willing her to say something meaningful, but was incapable of asking the questions she knew he had. Seeing Luke again had pulled her inward, leaving her bewildered and anxious. A small part of her wanted to indulge in her newfound closeness with Grissom and open up about her past relationship with Luke, but self preservation was winning, closing her off.

“Look, if you want to take me off the case then do it. I won’t argue,” she said calmly.

“Should I?”

“No,” she replied, not missing a beat.

He examined her face and she remained resolute, incapable of swaying. She wouldn't have argued with him, even if they didn’t have a newfound ground to stand on. She felt suddenly weary by the whole thing, a gale of emotions pulling her in every direction. If nothing else, processing a crime scene would take her mind off of it.

“Then I won’t,” he said quietly, “Let’s get back.” He guided her out of the showroom with his hand pressed firmly on the small of her back.

They processed the orchid room quietly for the next three and a half hours.

 

**xxx**

 

The ride back to the lab was just as quiet, but comfortably so. The cool darkness of the SUV and the low amber glow of the center console was making her sleepy and Sara focused on the lulling movements in an attempt to escape her incessant thoughts. One of her favorite things about Grissom was that he never felt the need to fill silence with empty chatter.

A soft acoustic song reverberated quietly in the the confines of the vehicle, softening her, and she felt a sudden tug on her heart toward the man beside her. His hand was resting on the gear shift while he focused on the road and after a moment of consideration, she lifted it. It was pleasantly warm and heavy in hers as she pulled it into her lap, lacing their fingers. She had surprised him, that much was obvious, but he was malleable to the affection. He glanced at her and turned the sides of his mouth upward in a favorable grin. He squeezed her hand and looked back at the road, smile remaining. His strong presence was reassuring and helped her forget, if only for a moment.

 

_Boston, Massachusetts - November 1991_

 

“Alright, Sara, this is gonna be a bull’s eye, ya ready?”

“You keep saying that,” Sara replied, an impish grin on her face, “But — and I’m not sure if you realize this — the bull’s eye is in the _center_ of the dart board.”

“I march to the beat of my own drum. That’s why ya love me,” Luke offered her a drunken smile, cocking his head innocently to the side.

The bar smelled of stale smoke and was unforgivably loud. The beer in her hand made her feel warm, light, and full of possibility. The tousled, red-headed man beside her, throwing darts aimlessly with a cigarette resting on his bottom lip, often made her feel this way — Like anything was possible but nothing was necessary.

“Aren’t you glad you put those books down for a few minutes?” he asked her.

She watched him with a loving grin on her face as he pulled his hand back and forth in air with the dart, focusing on the board a few feet away. He threw it and it landed with a flat thunk a few inches from another bar-goer’s head. The man turned, outraged and Luke laughed raucously.

“…The _fuck_ Luke?!” The man shouted, eyes aflame.

“Move away from the dartboard, ya dumbass!” Luke replied, striding casually up to him to grab his dart.

“I’m not even near it fuckwhad,” he growled out, his Boston accent almost cartoonish in its thickness.

Sara didn’t know the guy, but had seen him talking to Luke in the bar occasionally. Whenever they spoke, it was usually alone in hushed tones, with dicey eyes, and harsh hand movements. Sara could usually brush it off, but he made her nervous and she wasn't thrilled that Luke had nearly pelted him with a needle-pointed dart. Suddenly, the guy grabbed Luke’s flannel shirt and shoved him into the wall. Sara reacted swiftly, stepping in between the two men. The testosterone was rolling off the tall muscular man to her right, but Luke remained unruffled.

“Whoa! Just a party foul, Johnny. Chill,” Luke said, rubbing his neck.

“Ya know what? Stay away from me, tonight. You’re on my shit list.” He thrusted a fat finger in Luke’s face, then pushed his chest, slamming him against the wall again.

“What is your _problem_?!” Sara spat out, leering at the aggressor.

The man sneered; his eyes were small and mean. He merely glanced at Sara with indifference, then looked back at Luke.

“Control your woman,” he said, a sinister curl to his lip as he turned away.

Sara felt a surge of rage. A turbulent flow of bitter emotions rushed to the surface and she immediately reached out to put her hand on the man's shoulder. Luke stepped in front of her and pulled her into a sideways hug, shielding her from making a dangerous mistake.

“Come on, let’s get outta here,” he said, kissing her forehead. “Not worth it. Not even a little. Hey shouldn’t you be studying?” He smiled teasingly at her and they walked out of the bar, his arm thrown over her shoulder.

 

_To be continued..._


	2. Chapter 2

  
Grissom and Sara pushed the door of the morgue open, each snapping on a pair of latex gloves.

“Hey, Doc,” Sara greeted the medical examiner joining his side next to the steel table. “Got a C.O.D. yet?”

“Easy one. Blunt force trauma to the back of the skull. There was a concentrated point of impact on her occipital lobe. Her skull casing fractured, causing hemorrhaging. At least two to three blows, maybe more.”

“Explains the bloody mess,” Sara said. The woman’s shaved head looked vulnerable, an alarming reminder of the weakness of the human body. Blood caked around her head and shoulders

“Someone was angry,” Robbins said offhandedly.

Grissom studied the head wound for a moment more, pulling his glasses down. “Time of death?” he asked, eyes still focused on the victims broken skull.

“She’s only been dead a few hours,” Robbins answered glancing at the watch on his wrist, “I’d say, close to 8pm.”

Grissom’s eyes shot up over his glasses, immediately meeting Sara’s. “During the director’s private tour,” he said

She looked away, unable to meet Grissom’s pointed look.

“I’m gonna go start on those shoe prints,” she said after a moment “I’ll catch up with you later.” She smiled politely at both men, pulling off her gloves.

She could feel Grissom’s eyes watching her as she pushed the heavy door open and left the morgue behind.

xxx

The music was gloriously loud, all other sounds hampered by the tiny headphones sitting in her ear. With a pile of shoes in front of her, nothing else mattered but finding a match to the cast she had made earlier that evening.

She worked efficiently, more focused than normal, but her thoughts continually landed back to Luke. When she thought deeply of him, she'd change songs on her iPod and try to reset her mind again. Holding the final pair of shoes, Luke’s shoes, she considered them. They were black leather balmoral dress shoes, shiny without a speck of dirt on or under them.

Her memory of Luke was being stirred up. Like a pot of overcooked soup, everything had settled to the bottom of her mind over the last thirteen years. But nothing she remembered about him lined up with the man that stood in front of her earlier.

He was not the type of man that wore Italian leather shoes, no matter the occasion.

_Boston, Massachusetts - January 1992_

She looked at Luke, brow stitched. “You’re wearing that?”

He frowned and threw his hands up, looking down at his clothes. “What’s wrong with this?”

“It’s just that..” she let out a short laugh, covering her growing smile with her hand, “It’s flannel and faded corduroy. Not really job interview attire.”

“Okay, I’ll lose the flannel, but the corduroy is staying.” He patted the thigh of his pants. “These are lucky.”

A moment passed as she watched him from her spot on the bed. She gave a lopsided smile and said softly, “You’ll do great.”

He scoffed. “Maybe if I wear what you’re wearin’ now, I won’t even need an interview,” He said, leering at her through the mirror in front of him.

Sara giggled and lifted the sheet around her, looking down. “I’m naked.”

He turned, biting his lip, shirt discarded. Suddenly, he jumped on the bed, scrambling up to her boisterously. He tickled her and nuzzled into her neck with his unkempt beard. She laughed, a full belly laugh, the kind she hadn’t elicited since she was a seven year old girl, catching bullfrogs in her grandfather’s pond. Not, at least, until Luke.

“Okay, okay, okay,” she screeched out, breathless. He laid next to her and propped his head in one hand. They stared at one another for a tender moment and he brushed a wavy lock of hair away from her face.

“It’s just a stupid bartending job, ya know, nothing special,” he drawled out, shrugging self consciously.

Sara smiled warmly at him and propped herself up, pushing his solid chest playfully. “Give yourself a chance. Besides, you said you wanted to go to school. This could be how you get to do that.”

Luke rolled his eyes. “A twenty-four year old college freshman. Sounds pathetic.”

Sara sighed. The best side of Luke was his good-natured, coltish zeal. Unlike anyone else, he had pulled her nose out of the stacks, had made her want to be around another person other than her lab partner. He had fantastic ideas, even when he wasn't stoned, and one of Sara’s favorite things was listening to him spout out business proposals over a slice of cheesecake at 2am.

The more intimate they became, however, the more she could see the side of him that he kept carefully hidden. He lacked the self-assurance to turn his ideas into reality and a dark intensity lurked somewhere below the surface that could make him suddenly dour. When it happened, though, he would catch himself quickly, a plastic-like smile appearing across his face. She lacked the social experience to massage his ego in whatever way he may have needed, so she usually let the moment fade away without recognition.

She reached a hand out touched his beard. “Maybe you should trim your beard a bit.”

“That’ll never happen,” he said, knocking her hand away playfully and hopping off the bed. He dug around his overnight bag that he brought with him to her apartment. “How about this?” He held up a t-shirt with Ren and Stimpy hugging stupidly on the front. Sara laughed and threw a pillow at him.

He caught it and nodded. “Flannel it is, then.”

xxx

Sara studied the inky shoe print on the film as the song in her ears faded into another, and then another. A shadow fell over the layout table and she looked up to see Grissom hands planted on the table, staring at her intimately. It was startling.

"How's it going?" he asked.

"Well, this is the last of the shoes and it's not a match.”

"I meant with you," he said with a faint, gentle smile on his face.

Her first reaction, which she struggled to internalize, was exasperation. She never wanted Grissom to think she couldn't handle things or deal with her problems herself. It's why she had taken so long to tell him about her family. But that, she had to remind herself, had only brought them closer.

She offered him a grateful smile. "It's going okay."

"Good. Let's go over this later. I'm starving."

"Me too." She got up and began gathering the evidence together. "I'll take this to the vault and meet you outside.

"I'll help you," he offered, sliding the folders together, his fingers delicately skimming over hers.

The shift that had occurred between them when he finally decided to pursue her had slowly begun to bleed into work, though she wasn't sure how intentional it was. Grissom had this other side to him that, while she enjoyed, she hadn't adjusted to quite yet. When he made the effort, she noticed how soft he could be and, when coupled with a surprising eagerness to please, it could be rather striking. He didn't let it show around others, at least not yet, so she knew he was aware of it. For her part, initiating was difficult, the sting of his long time rejection still bubbling under the surface somewhere. It was far too new, far too tenuous and she was far too vulnerable where he was concerned.

“Where do you wanna go?” Grissom asked her as they walked to his car. Sara slid her sunglasses on, thankful for the reprieve offered from the harsh Vegas sun. She looked at him, relieved that she couldn’t meet his eyes.

“Wherever you take me,” she said, the flirtatious undertone apparent when combined with the grin she threw his way.

She watched his lips pucker and his eyebrows raise over his sunglasses. “Burger King it is.”

“Ha-ha.”

He smirked and opened the passenger’s side door for her. She catalogued gentlemanly as another surprising Grissom trait.

They drove further than necessary, closer to Henderson than Las Vegas, and Grissom settled on an amiable little deli. As they waited for their food, Grissom’s fingers glided over the condensation on his glass. He looked content and relaxed, eyes taking in the deli patrons. Unassuming music filtered from a speaker somewhere, the pungent smell of sourdough bread hung in the air.

“Why did we come all the way out here?” she asked, head cocked to the side curiously.

He shrugged. “Why not?”

Sara matched his shrug, pleased at his easy attitude. Grissom’s gaze landed on an older man huddled in the corner of the deli by himself, a newspaper dissected and strewn about his table. Grissom chuckled.

“What?” Sara asked, turning to look.

“That man looks just like my uncle Bart,” he said, his mouth twisting upward to meet his eyes in a boyish grin. “Just like him.”

“Are you sure it’s not?”

Grissom’s smile faltered so slightly it was almost imperceptible. “He died a few years ago.”

“Oh. Sorry.”

Grissom shook his head and frowned, waving her apology off. “This is definitely the type of place he’d come though. Hole in the wall. Not many people."

Sara marveled that in less than twenty-four hours, she’d learned something new about Grissom’s father, and now uncle. He seemed to be in a sharing frenzy and she wondered if she should take advantage of it. She decided against the notion, unwilling to answer any loaded questions about herself, should he ask.

Grissom fiddled with the sugar packets on the table, slapping them against the faded beige tabletop. He didn’t usually fidget like this and she assumed that he was struggling with sharing a piece of himself. She remained quiet, sipping her Coke placidly. If there was one thing that a relationship with Grissom required more than anything, it was patience.

“We were a lot alike, me and old Bart. My mother’s brother.” He swallowed, looking past the old man. He no longer seemed to be looking away out of curiosity, but rather to avoid meeting her eyes.

“Was he an intellectual?” Sara asked after a moment.

Grissom nodded slowly, as if lost in thought. “He didn’t go to school, but he was very good with his hands. A real hobbyist. He’d repair clocks and even made some his own. I used to sit for hours watching him, listening to the ticking and the winding.” He finally looked at her, a reticence in his eyes, then looked away again. “He... lived in his head a bit, you could say.”

“Aha,” Sara said with an understanding nod, “Good old Bart.”

Grissom chuckled, eyes landing on the sugar packet in his hand. “He once told me: Gilbert, if you think you’ve thought about it enough, think again.”

Sara smiled and slid her leg forward a bit, touching Grissom’s slightly. She marveled at the fact that she could do that, make intentional physical contact with Grissom without him recoiling in discomfort. Instead, he furthered the contact, rested his leg against hers. His body heat made her leg tingle.

“That explains a lot,” she said, balling the paper of her straw and tossing it at him playfully. “Gilbert.”

He grinned, toying with the paper. “Yeah, I guess it does.”

“I like learning about your family,” she said, “I think we all just assumed you hatched in a pond somewhere.”

Grissom screwed his face up in mock offense, lips puckering, and threw the ball of paper back at her. “Now it’s your turn to tell me something I don’t know about you,” he said casually, sitting back against the red vinyl booth, cocking his head to the side.

Sara’s face fell a bit, but he didn't seem to notice. She couldn’t help but wonder if he was hoping to find out more about Luke Walsh, a conversation she didn't feel prepared to have. The waitress arrived at the table with their sandwiches and Sara welcomed the chance to stall. She immediately bit into her panini, chewing her thoughts along with the food. Grissom already knew more about her than she ever thought he would. Though, realistically, he knew so little.

She swallowed and decided to keep the conversation light. “Okay, sure… let’s see….” She crunched a chip and looked excitedly at him, “Oh! When I was in tenth grade, I built an x-ray machine for the science fair.”

A look of adoration and utter joy passed over Grissom’s face. “Now this I wanna hear.”

“It took me four weeks and my physics teacher helped me after school. She paid for most of the materials. And it totally worked! But by the time the science fair came, the power supply died. It was faulty and they sent me another one, but the science fair was already over.”

“That’s a shame.”

“Yeah, it sucked, but whatever. I built an x-ray machine,” Sara said, flashing a cocky grin.

“Your teacher must have been very proud of you,” Grissom said, offering her a reverent smile. She couldn’t help it, she loved his approval. Every time she got it, a light turned on inside of her; her heart quickened and swelled.

“She’s the reason I went to Harvard,” Sara said finally, swallowing a lump that was forming. “I almost didn’t bother. She pushed me to go.”

“It’s important to have people like that in our lives.”

“Yes, it is. She changed my life, I guess.” She felt words crawling up her throat, attempting to escape, the things she couldn’t get out of her mind since seeing Luke earlier that evening. She pushed them down, unwilling to lay out the fragments of herself while they were so pleasantly content with one another.

Comfortable silence ensued as they ate their meal, both looking out the window reflectively. Grissom took one last swig of his root beer and set the glass down, with a sharp thud. “We should get back,” he said, and she nodded in silent agreement.

She wanted to stay in the little deli all day with him and she would have, if he'd asked her to.

Grissom paid and they reluctantly swung the door open into the October sun. She saw him look one last time at the old man in the corner and she smiled at this reflective side of him.

They reached the car and Grissom paused at the passenger side with her, as if to open the door. Instead he planted his hand on the window beside her waist, effectively pinning her to the car. In a wonderfully bold move, he dipped his head and kissed her on the mouth. It was abrupt and commanding, unlike any other kiss they had shared. The handful of times they had kissed, he was methodical, smooth, and patient. Never had he acted impulsively in public.

He pulled back and looked at her wickedly. His voice was husky. “We came all the way out here... because I’ve wanted to do that all night.”

Sara’s knees quivered and Grissom’s left hand skimmed over her hip, pulling on the door handle. She bit her lip, words failing her, and he walked to the other side of the car. Her tightened nerves and the sexual tension between them made the car so warm, the air conditioner couldn't cool her.

 

to be continued...


	3. Chapter 3

 

Catherine sat down at the break room table across from Grissom and Sara, lifting a mug to her mouth. "Let's talk about the people that were at this… after hours… ass kissing thing the director was hosting. I mean, it had to have been someone who was there. Maybe they all know who did it and no one's talkin'."

"Well, someone could have broken in or have been hiding once the place closed," Sara pointed out.

Grissom nodded. "So far, all we have is a shoe print in the dirt by the victim's body, which doesn't match any of the tour guests' shoes. We took all of their fingerprints, but we didn't get any probative prints from the actual crime scene, so we have nothing to compare them to anyway."

"Security cameras?" Catherine asked. Sara was nervous about Catherine's involvement in the case. If it came up, and really it was only a matter of time, Catherine would be another person to whom she would have to explain her past with Luke. She couldn't shake the feeling that Luke Walsh was somehow involved and it made her uneasy.

"Conveniently, none of the security cameras were recording in _any_ of the rooms that evening," Grissom answered with ire, a piece of paper floating from his fingers to the table.

"How does the director explain that one?"

"An unfortunate glitch."

Catherine guffawed. "Which brings me back to the guests at his little party." She picked up the piece of paper with Grissom's notes. "We have a Lawrence Valentine and his wife Linda from Vegas; Luke Walsh from Boston, and Allen Fischer from Chicago. And the director, Dr. Robert Berwyn."

Sara added, "And T.O.D. was around 8pm, so the victim was basically still warm when they found the body around 9:30pm."

Sara usually enjoyed the puzzles, even if it meant long hours and little sleep. It's why she was a CSI. But she wanted nothing more than an open and shut case right now so she could stop hearing the name _Luke Walsh_ and so she could stop fantasizing about meeting him again. She couldn't stop playing the scenarios out in her head; what would he say to her and her to him?

"We need to find the murder weapon," Grissom's voice broke into her thoughts grimly. "And we need to find out why those security cameras weren't rolling — the _real_ reason."

**xxx**

Catherine and Sara were tasked with returning to the conservatory together. Sara loathed the prospect of spending another minute with her sweat collecting on her skin, incapable of evaporation.

"So this is the orchid room," Catherine remarked as they opened the door, a heaviness settling over them immediately. "Phew. Hot."

"No kidding," Sara replied flatly.

She imaged herself as a normal visitor walking affably through the circular room, taking in the delicate flowers. It was difficult to see a place through the eyes of a person who hadn't seen it as a crime scene — one of the drawbacks to being a crime scene investigator. Invariably, even a place as innocently beautiful as a room full of flowers could be forever marred by the occurrence of a crime. After four hours of the sickeningly sweet smell of orchids and wet dirt she was sure she would never be able to return to the conservatory with enjoyment. She'd never look at the flowers and not see blood spattered all over them.

Grissom probably had something wise to say about that, she thought, as she walked the room with new eyes. She flipped through her crime scene photos, eyes shooting up to connect dots that may or may not be there. Her gaze landed a few feet ahead of her where hand-sized rocks lined the brick pathway. Consistently, there was a rock every six inches or so. Until, there wasn't. There was an obvious gap between two rocks and Sara's eyebrows shot up.

"Cath, check this out."

Catherine walked over, brow furrowed. Sara pointed to the gap in the decorative pathway liner.

"There's one missing," Catherine said. "Could be the murder weapon." They shared a knowing look. "Another unfortunate glitch?"

They walked out of the orchid room and into the sensory garden. Before her, raised plant beds lined the walkways. Carnivorous plants sat atop the soil menacingly awaiting their next meal to slip and fall into their acidic stomachs. Sara shivered at the plants, always having found something insidious about them. She looked over at Catherine who was taking in the comparatively serene trees hovering over the plant beds.

"This place is pretty," Catherine remarked. "Why haven't I ever been here?"

"When would you have the time?" Sara ribbed with a lopsided smile.

They walked toward a bridge that was poised over a pond of lily pads and Sara's insides shrunk considerably. Standing directly in the middle of the bridge with his forearms resting on the wooden railing was Luke Walsh. He was staring into the water, unmoving. Perhaps having sensed the two women approaching him, he looked up and immediately straightened. Sara considered turning around and walking the other way.

"Hey, Sara," Luke said softly, eyes locked on her as if Catherine wasn't even there.

Catherine shot her a look of question, a small a bit of amusement in the corners of her mouth. Sara shook it off and walked toward Luke. Catherine lagged behind a bit. She skipped niceties, annoyed at seeing him again.

"What are you doing here?" Sara answered, not bothering to hide her skepticism.

"The director — Robert and I are good friends. We're meeting for dinner. I'm early. He's in his office taking care of a few things first," Luke answered evenly. He smiled uneasily at Catherine and moved an inch closer to Sara. "Sara, can we speak in private for a minute? Just a minute?"

Sara looked over at Catherine. Her amused curiosity was evident in the way an eyebrow shot up and one corner of her mouth lifted. Sara shifted a bit and sighed heavily, biting the inside of her cheek.

Catherine shrugged innocently. "I'll go find Dr. Berwyn," she offered.

It was going to be unavoidable, telling Catherine who Luke was to her. But for now, she was thankful that her co-worker was tempering her curiosity.

"I really shouldn't be talking to you," Sara said cooly. "You're a suspect, you know?"

"I didn't kill that woman."

Sara leaned against the wooden rails of the bridge, crossing her arms in front of her. The sun was setting behind Luke and she stared over his shoulder for a moment. The pond was still and dark, like black glass with swirls of sunset orange.

"You know, I thought I'd never see you again," she said, a sad slowness in her voice. "I thought you were probably dead, honestly."

Luke nodded and stuffed his hands into his tailored black pants. His wristwatch stuck outside of the lip of his pocket. It looked expensive, shiny and new. He looked to the side, a pained look on his face.

"I'm sorry about how I left things," he said, his voice suddenly raspy. "I regret everything about that year. Except for you, Sara."

"I don't even know what that means," she said flatly, unimpressed.

"You look great, you know. I mean, you were beautiful then and you're beautiful now, what… thirteen years later?"

Sara rolled her eyes and remained quiet, rolling her jaw, pressing her lips tightly together.

Luke continued after swallowing, keeping his voice light. "So are you married now? Kids?"

That made her scoff. "No."

He laughed. "Yeah, well…hey, people change, right?"

"I guess so. Look at you." She gave him once-over, though he wouldn't have seen it behind her sunglasses. She turned to him, resting her left arm on the railing. "I barely recognize you."

He shifted a bit, licking his bottom lip nervously. "I do okay."

She hummed her response, entirely suspicious of him. The man in front of her was so different, yet so familiar. The contrast perplexed her, the mystery of it all too much for her to bear.

"What are the odds of this, Sara? I mean, think about it. The chances of us meeting again, like this. It's _mind_ boggling."

"Well, if you have something to do with that woman's death, chance has nothing to do with it. I'm a crime scene investigator. So, if you're a criminal, then you and me meeting was simply a matter of time."

"A crime scene investigator," he repeated slowly, as if trying the words on for a proper fit. "That's not what I expected."

"What did you expect?"

"Something more... academic, maybe?" He became suddenly animated. "But for us to meet again in _Vegas_. I live in Boston, I'm just here on business. You _work_ here. Jesus, it's just crazy," he said, putting his hand to his head.

She looked at him intently, eyes narrowing. "So you went back to Boston, then?"

"Yeah…" He nodded, looking down into the silky water. "Yeah, after a while, I went back."

"Where did you go?" she asked, careful to mask any emotion she may have had, though all she really felt in that moment was an innocuous curiosity, a need to finish a puzzle that she'd never quite given up.

"All over. Did some things, here and there. Worked on myself. It was good for me." He shrugged. Then, confidently, he asked, "If I had asked, would you have come with me?"

The question shocked her, though she didn't show it. She knew the answer now — an unequivocal _no_ — but she couldn't speak for her twenty year old self. Somehow, it seemed wrong to do so, like she would be speaking for another person entirely.

"I've got to get back to my partner. Thanks for making things awkward by the way," Sara said disparagingly. "I'm going to have to explain you to her." She turned to leave, eager to put some space between her and Luke.

"Sara?"

She rolled her eyes and turned back, voice tired. "Yeah?"

"You look really, _really_ good." He smiled genuinely at her, pushing off the railing.

She said nothing and left him behind on the bridge.

**xxx**

"So, Dr. Berwyn was a cool character. I've got a bad feeling about him," Catherine remarked as they dropped into the hot SUV. She started the engine, cranking the air conditioning to max capacity. "I asked why the security cameras weren't recording anything. He was evasive, had a real posh accent."

"I'm guessing he had the same answer he gave Vartan," Sara said glumly.

"He had an… _important_ … meeting to get to, so I couldn't get him to talk. I'm gonna have Vartan bring him in. I'm not satisfied." Catherine looked over at Sara, eyebrows raised. She let a few seconds pass, but Sara knew what was coming. As if on queue, she asked, "So, you gonna tell me what that was all about back there?"

Sara sighed and flopped her head back on the headrest, the trapped heat of the vehicle pressing down on her. "I don't really have a choice, do I?"

"Who was he?" she popped a piece of gum in her mouth and held the package out in offering. Her voice was lighthearted enough, but held the inquisitive edge of an investigator. It irked her that she appreciated that about Catherine. She didn't pull punches, and she didn't play mind games.

Sara took the gum, shooting half-hearted daggers at Catherine. "He's two people. First and foremost, he's Luke Walsh."

Catherine's eyes slid away for a moment, thinking. Realization dawned and her eyes widened. "The suspect? Then why did—"

"Second," Sara interrupted, "…he was my boyfriend in college."

Catherine's mouth dropped. "Uh-oh."

"Yeah."

"Didn't you go to Harvard?"

"I did," Sara replied, head bobbing emphatically.

"Wow. What are the chances?" Catherine sat back in her seat, frowning. "Does Grissom know?"

"Yes. And I told him that I could work the case, unbiased. And I can. It's just… awkward. After thirteen years, you kind of expect a person to be different. Just not… _that_ different."

Catherine nodded, working the gum with her jaw. After a moment of weighted silence, Catherine pulled out of the parking lot and began driving back to the lab. "You think he could have done it?" Catherine asked hesitantly.

Sara let out a pent-up breath. "I hope not," she whispered to herself against the car window. "But what do I know?"

_Boston, Massachusetts — March 1992_

The leaves of the red maple tree swayed and danced in the gentle breeze, the blood orange colors at odds with the dark storm clouds above. Sara stood back and watched Luke, his head bowed over the casket in front of him. The casket loomed over the six foot hole menacingly.

"Do you want to be alone?" she asked him, content to walk around the cemetery while he grieved.

Luke didn't answer right away and she wondered if he even heard her. She moved closer, resting her hand lightly on his shoulder. He was alarmingly rigid.

"Luke?"

"I feel like I could kill whoever did this," he whispered. His jaw clenched, a violent storm brewed underneath his buttoned up exterior.

Her stomach quaked, nerves twitched. She watched Luke shovel a mount of dirt with his tattered soccer shoes and push it into the hole. He ran a hand through his knotted hair and she dropped her hand from his shoulder, unsure of how to console him. She had never felt fear around Luke before, but something about him felt dangerous in that moment.

His best friend, Brian, had been killed in a seemingly random shooting outside of a bar. She suspected Luke knew more than he was letting on, but couldn't find the right opportunity to prod him.

Luke turned to face her, his eyes mournful and heavy. Tears clung to his lower lids, desperate to fall and he pulled his arm up to wipe them away. "Thanks for coming with me."

"Of course."

Thunder rumbled overhead. Sara wanted to leave, wanted to let the undertaker bury the body so she could move on from it. Fat raindrops hit the casket slowly and Luke let out a miserable sigh.

"We should go," he said and reached his hand out for her to take. They walked hand-in-hand to his car as the rainfall gained momentum.

"You'll get past this, I promise," she said to him as they pulled away from the cemetery.

"I don't feel like getting past _anything_ right now," he answered. His voice had lost the intimidating edge from earlier, which comforted her.

"My father died when I was a little kid," she finally said, "And I got through it. I focused on the things that mattered to me."

It was the first time she had ever told anyone, _really_ said the words out loud. She had vowed when she left California that she would leave all of it behind and never give volume to it. But here she was, talking about her dead dad during a stormy spring day in Boston.

After a minute, Luke gave an abrupt exhale and touched her on the knee. "Jesus, Sara, I'm sorry."

She placed her hand on his and offered him a small, sad smile. "It's okay, it was a long time ago. My point is… life moves on. You get angry for a while and you go through all of these emotions that make you want to crawl in a hole and forget… but ultimately, Luke, life moves on."

She watched Luke nod at her gently. "How'd he die?"

Sara's mouth went dry, her heart quickened. "Heart attack," she lied simply, as if believing it herself would make it true. Yet, the color of her father's blood on her mother's floral-printed couch was an image she couldn't have imagined.

 

_to be continued..._


	4. Chapter 4

 

Dr. Robert Berwyn sat in the interrogation room calmly, his hands folded in front of him, Sara and Catherine staring at him suspiciously.

"So, Dr. Berwyn, what's the use of a security camera that chooses when it records?" Catherine asked sweetly.

"I told you already. I don't know why those cameras weren't recording."

"So the one night you plan to take your donors on a private tour of the facility, the cameras don't work," Sara challenged, "And you don't find that suspicious?"

"I admit, it _is_ suspicious, which is why the Las Vegas Crime Lab is no doubt working tirelessly to figure it out," he rebuked, his British accent irritating Sara. He sounded arrogant and impertinent, one of Sara's many pet peeves.

"Well, that's why you're here, Doctor. You see, we think they were recording that night and someone removed the tapes, switched 'em with blanks," Catherine added. "And who else had access to the security room, other than the director that night?"

Berwyn gave a humorless grin. "Shall I get a lawyer, then?"

"We're just having a chat," Sara said, shrugging. "Tell us more about the people you were entertaining that night."

His eyes narrowed and he shifted them between Catherine and Sara. "They're upstanding citizens, the lot of them. They donate money to the conservatory yearly and are personally responsible for many of the rare plants we house there. There are several scientific contributions that can be attributed to the people I was… _entertaining_ that night."

"Be specific," Sara said, and saw Catherine glance at her.

"Alright, Dr. Allen Fischer for starters. He has a certain affection for different species of ferns. Because of his efforts, we have one of the largest King Ferns in the country. It's very rare and very precious. He's an intellectual at the University of Chicago. Quite accomplished, really."

Sara was itching to ask about Luke, but restrained. "Mr. and Mrs. Valentine?"

"Lawrence and Linda Valentine are personal friends of mine. Neither of them would hurt a soul. They married at the conservatory years ago and have a certain attachment to it. They keep the conservatory financially afloat, if I'm honest. He's a successful real estate mogul, though I'm sure you knew that."

Berwyn stared at them for a moment, lips puckering thoughtfully. He wagged his finger in the air pointedly. "But Lucas Walsh, I admit, I know little about."

"You were meeting him for dinner tonight. He claims to be a friend of yours," Catherine retorted.

"Yes, well, our relationship _is_ friendly but his occupation is a mystery to me. As to how he has the financial means to support our conservatory, I don't ask."

Sara felt suddenly and unusually hesitant to learn more about Luke from the man sitting in front of her. His tone suggested a secrecy that she had been trying to deny since seeing him in that lobby. Learning about it with Catherine next to her was uncomfortable, a clash of her private life and work life that drove a clenching tension in her neck. She tapped on the table, an uncommon nervous twitch, brow furrowed deeply.

Finally, she asked, "So what is his personal interest in the conservatory?"

Robert Berwyn raised his brow. "Orchids."

Catherine's head turned quickly to her. Sara swallowed, her mouth dry.

"Yes, he's quite captivated by them, I think," Berwyn added, a carefully placed afterthought.

Sara tried to shake the misplaced feeling of betrayal bubbling in her gut. Logically, she didn't know Luke Walsh. It had been thirteen years since she last saw him and realistically, she never truly thought she knew him. Their affair had been meaningful and, at times, life-changing but it was over long before it began. Admitting that had taken some time, but she had settled it within herself long ago. Luke had known her at twenty years old, an age where nothing mattered but the here and now. While she had been more determined and academically inclined than the average twenty year-old, she had still possessed the unshakeable laggardly attitude of a youth that believed time was on her side.

She was no longer that person, and couldn't expect that Luke was either.

Sara sighed, feeling slightly dreadful. She looked at Catherine, who shrugged, a silent acceptance that the conversation had led them to a different road that they must travel down.

"We may have more questions later, but you can go for now. Thanks for coming in," Catherine said.

He gave one short nod. "Have a good evening ladies. I wish you luck in your investigation. Dr. Eubank was a personal friend and colleague. I can't imagine who would want to do this to her." He left the room and Catherine glanced at Sara, a look somewhere between pity and sympathy on her face.

"Yeah, I know, we have to bring him in," Sara said, her eyes on the table. "I told you, I'm not biased."

"I know, but you don't have to pretend it's easy. If anyone gets it, _I_ do," she replied, scooting out the chair and gathering the files in front of her. "Why don't you go on home, we'll bring him in tomorrow."

Sara nodded and followed her out of the interrogation room. She turned the corner to find Grissom standing beside the two-way mirror, his face unreadable.

"Hey," Catherine greeted him. "I'm still not convinced he doesn't know what happened to those security tapes. And I think it's possible they were all in on it."

"I'm still trying to figure out a motive, if that's the case," Grissom said, face contorting in confusion. "Either way, we don't have a shred of evidence linking him to the murder."

"I think it's time to run some prints through I-AFIS. See if anyone has anything to hide," Catherine said vaguely. Grissom nodded his approval.

Sara was quiet and she realized how quiet she was when Catherine walked away and she was standing there with Grissom, alone. His head was cocked to the side when she looked up at him, the muted, murmuring sounds of the police station made her feel like she was twenty feet underwater.

"You look like you're a million miles away," he said to her. His voice had that familiar tenderness that usually made her heart surge lovingly, but it had little effect on her in her current state. He sounded far away in her head and she squeezed her eyelids together, trying to relieve a migrainous headache that pulsed wickedly.

"Are you okay?" he asked, concern etched on his face.

"I'm fine."

"You don't seem fine, Sara," he said gently.

She cleared her throat, biting back an unjustified and snappy remark. "I'm heading home. I need a few hours of sleep. See you later."

Ignoring the worry in his eyes, she drifted past him, feeling mechanical and distant.

**xxx**

Sara watched the ceiling fan rotate, taking comfort in the methodical whir. She lay on her bed, on top of the covers, fully dressed in jeans and a dark blue LVPD hooded sweatshirt. She'd been there for what felt like hours, feeling confused and sullen. She couldn't pin point the exact reason for her hazy heavy feeling, but she felt guilty for pulling away from Grissom earlier. He was the last person on earth she wanted to alienate, regardless of how he treated her sometimes. He was trying, and had been trying very hard for a few weeks now. Luke's sudden appearance had put a depressing damper on things.

She rubbed her face vigorously. Her eyes felt droopy, but her mind was motivated to solve all of her problems right there in the diffused light of her bedroom. A knock at her front door clamored throughout her apartment and she dragged herself to the living room to answer it. After looking through the peep hole, she allowed her smile to widen and pulled the door open.

"Hi," Grissom said, holding up two bags of what smelled like Chinese food. "Hungry?"

She stepped aside and he walked past her, setting the bags on the counter. As soon as the door closed, his hands landed on either side of her face and he kissed her. It was slow and passionate. The kind of kiss that emptied her mind. His hands meandered into her hair, massaging her scalp as his lips slid over hers. She heard herself whimper slightly and he pulled away.

His eyes, only a few inches from her own, held compassion and barely suppressed desire. It was enough to make her lip quiver slightly at her attitude earlier, the kiss having wiped away all feelings of despondence and grief. 

"Were you avoiding me?" he asked, smirking, eyes sparkling.

She shook her head _no_ , licking her lips, feeling shaky and aroused. His thumbs moved slowly and gently on her cheeks. He smelled like he had recently showered, something faintly masculine and unfamiliar, but superbly alluring.

"Do you wanna be alone?" he asked, suddenly serious, hands sliding down to her shoulders.

"No, I don't." Her voice sounded odd to her ears, hoarse and weak. She didn't remember putting her hands on his hips, underneath his jacket, but she had so she squeezed him lightly and smiled. "I'm really glad you're here."

His breath was hot on her face, but she shivered at the intensity of his gaze. He kissed her again, this time tenderly taking her bottom lip between his, pushing himself into it.

After a moment, his hands slid down, tickling her arms as he grinned at her. "Vegetable lo mein, right?"

She nodded as he set about unpacking the food.

"Did you get some rest?" he asked. Sara bit her lip to keep from lying and looked up at him guiltily. "I'll take that as a _no_." He let out a chuckle and looked up at her, giving his head a little shake. Sara shrugged, feeling foolishly in love as she watched him with heavy eyelids.

"Alright, dig in."

She leaned over the counter on her forearms. "Here's the million-dollar question: did you _know_ I liked spring rolls instead of egg rolls or did you just get _lucky_?" She grabbed her chopsticks and looked up with a wry grin. The window was open and early afternoon light flipped through the sheer purple curtains, casting a warm glow over them. She felt peaceful and normal again.

Grissom swallowed his food. "I'm very observant." Sara nodded and hummed her approval. "But," he added after a moment, looking up at her earnestly, "I'm also very lucky."

She felt her heart flutter. It was a touching comment to make, the intention of his words obvious. She thought about the first time he kissed her, perhaps three weeks ago. He'd shown up at her door, looking haggard and said something vague about regret. She remembered feeling hesitant, and it must have shown in her face, because she'd never seen him look so nervous and ruffled. Maybe one day she could ask him what he was really thinking in that moment when she could have said no. Instead, without the overabundance of words, she'd said yes and he had gradually been showing her what it was like to know him intimately.

Though, they had yet to consummate anything, interruptions and obligations having gotten in the way more than once. Grissom was nothing if not a patient man, but every new moment was like climbing a mountain. She could sense herself ascending to a new height with him with every touch, kiss, and lingering look. There was something sensual and intentional about the anticipation that almost made her not want to end it. Almost.

They chatted idly while eating and when they were done, he cleaned up the mess, asking if she'd like to watch TV. She agreed and and they settled on her couch. He pulled her to his shoulder, as if he had done it a million times, and propped his feet up on her coffee table. He flipped through cable without aim and eventually settled on _Back to the Future_ , grinning childishly at the television.

"So, is that what it was really like in the 50's?" Sara teased, nudging him, "All conformist, boring, and pastel-colored?"

"This movie takes place in 1955. I wasn't even born yet," he retorted.

"My mistake," she said flippantly. She loved to tease him because not many people could get away with it. She also found it was usually easier than engaging him in heavy conversation.

"Besides, I wouldn't throw stones. You were a youth in the late 80's and early 90's. We both know what that was like."

Sara laughed. "That's fair. Day-glo, spandex, and obnoxious punk rock music."

"The spandex was okay," he said matter-of-factly, and shot her a grin. She chuckled at him. A moment passed as they watched Biff bully George McFly in the diner.

"I would like to have met you back then," Sara said and she felt him take a breath in.

"Funny thing. I actually did attend a lecture on forensic pathology at Harvard in…" — he screwed up his face in thought — "…'90, I think it was. Who knows, maybe we passed right by one another." He gave her a wistful look, then winked.

"No way," she said, sitting up to look at him, grinning. He nodded. "Small world. I would have been a sophomore." She thought for a moment and scooted down so that she could lay her head in his lap. "Though, I was so wrapped up in studying I barely left my room at that point."

He looked down at her and nodded, the look of a kindred spirit who understood completely. She closed her eyes as he ran his fingers through her hair. The movie played on.

"I wish I'd just stayed there, sometimes," she said quietly, barely awake and not really understanding the meaning of her own words. She could feel herself drifting off as he covered her with a blanket, "Earth Angel" emanating sweetly from the television.

_Boston, Massachusetts — May 1992_

When Sara pushed her way into the smoky bar, she knew something was wrong immediately. Inside it was foggy and boisterous, as usual, but there was an unfriendly tension in the air that she couldn't pinpoint. She looked around, seeking Luke when a vaguely familiar form appeared before her, a friend of Luke's perhaps.

"Hey, Sara right?" he shouted at her, an intoxicated flare in his voice.

"Yeah!" Sara shouted back. "Have you seen Luke?"

"He's over by the pool table takin' care of some business. Can I get you a beer or somethin'?"

The ambiguous answer and the way the young man was pushing her toward the bar, away from the pool table, make Sara uneasy. A glass broke somewhere behind her, the clanging shatter making her jump. "I'm just gonna find Luke, thanks!"

"He'll be right over, just come hang out with me for a minute. I'll get you a beer, come on. I'm Matt, remember me right?" He smelled like he'd marinated overnight in beer and cigarettes.

"Matt, yeah, I remember. Are you trying to keep me from going over there?"

He scoffed in annoyance, then shook his head briskly, too briskly to be genuine. "That's crazy. Do what you want, kid." He took a pull on his beer and locked eyes with her, a silent dare.

She narrowed her eyes at him for a moment, then rolled them, miffed at his response. "I'm going to find Luke. And don't call me kid." It sounded petulant, and she immediately berated herself for it.

She walked toward the pool tables and could see Luke propped against one, a group of people collected around him. She stood still, watching for a moment, trying to ascertain the situation. Everything in her gut told her to turn away, walk out the bar and back into her cozy academic life. It was like feeling a sizzle of static on the back of the neck before a lighting strike. But she was nothing if not curious, sometimes to a fault.

Luke looked shaky and unfamiliar. The bar patrons around him had an agitated air about them. There was a pressure building around them and one of the men, who Sara recognized as Johnny, was puffing his chest out like a silverback gorilla. Suddenly, Luke picked up a warn wooden pool cue and cracked it over his knee. His eyes flared and Sara had to stop herself from running at him. He looked rabid, dangerously mad. Johnny pushed into him with his chest menacingly. Luke threw the cue pieces down and punched Johnny in the face, a pulse of quiet fell over the bar.

Sara gasped audibly, a deer caught in headlights. She couldn't believe what she was seeing. Her Luke, the friendly affable goofball was fighting in a dive bar.

The people around them eventually intervened, pulling the thrashing men away from one another. Sara got closer as a woman in a halter top pushed Luke back into the pool table, Johnny spitting obscenities as he marched out of the bar defiantly. Luke shook the woman off and flew into the bathroom, unaware that Sara had been watching him.

Gathering herself slowly, she walked to the bathroom and knocked.

"Go the fuck away!" Luke shouted as she pushed the door open, ignoring his brash request. "You fucking deaf—" His eyes landed on her, a blazing heat behind them. When he noticed her, his face fell, the blood clotting on his nostrils. "Sara… _Je-_ sus."

She looked at him closely, tucking her denim jacket in the folds of her arms. He threw a paper towel defeatedly in the trash can and hung his head. "How much did you see?"

"Enough." A trickle of blood ran down his face from his temple and she forgot for a moment how angry and confused she was. All she wanted to do was clean him up and get him back to her apartment, away from flickering lights of the run-down bar bathroom.

He dipped his head in the sink and threw cold water on his face. "It was just a disagreement that got a little heated. Not a big deal."

"You broke a pool cue."

"I was pissed off, Sara. Sometimes, I get pissed off, just like anyone else." His voice was steady as he looked at his reflection in the mirror. She wondered what he saw. Was he seeing the same person she was?

She stepped toward him tentatively, her voice small, "That was… _fury,_ Luke. You weren't just pissed off. What were you so furious about?"

"It's really not your business, okay?" he snapped, turning to her with his eyes low and dark.

His comment smarted, but she remained firm. "Is this who you are? The type of guy that gets into dangerous bar fights and tells his girlfriend it's not her business?"

He ran his hand over his damp face and looked at her. He looked older to her all of a sudden, and she felt younger standing next to him. He was looking at her like she was a naive child and it was devouring any affection she had felt toward him moments ago.

"Sara… I'm sorry, alright? That was a shitty thing to say."

"Yeah, it was."

"You're just…" He trailed off, throwing his hands up in the air dejectedly. "I don't like letting you down, ya know? You're way too good for me." His Boston accent was thicker than normal, emotion pulling it out of him. "Can we just get outta here?"

"I know _I_ am," she retorted, turning to leave. "I have to study for finals. I don't have time for this drama."

He rushed to her, pressing the door to stop her from opening it. "Let me go, Luke."

"You're the best thing that's ever happened to me," he pleaded, "It was just a couple of stupid guys fighting for no good reason. Believe me."

She didn't, but she was exhausted. There was a recklessness to him that secretly intrigued her, keeping her from pulling out of his orbit even when her gut was telling her to do so. 

Her shoulders sank, silently disappointed in her lack of resolve. She looked at him and bit her tongue. He looked pathetic, a sickly bruise forming under his right eye. "Fine. Let's go."

_to be continued..._


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Thanks to everyone who's been reading so far, and a special thanks to those who have taken the time to let me know what you think. Your words spur me on! I meant to post this sooner, but my internet was down. I hope you are enjoying it so far. This chapter is super long but it's coming to a close soon, sadly. Oh well. That just means I can work on something new, if my muse cooperates that is. The last few chapters should be up over the course of a few days. <3

 

* * *

 

 

Sara awoke to the sound of a phone ringing, somewhere. Her head was still on Grissom's lap and she looked up. He was pulling himself out of sleep as well, reaching over to the coffee table where his phone vibrated impatiently. She sat up, dazed, and excused herself to the bathroom while Grissom spoke on his phone. It had been only a few hours, but she felt relatively rested. Grissom's warm thigh had been a suitable pillow and she smiled to herself realizing that he had fallen asleep sitting up just so he wouldn't disturb her. It was surprising to her how thoughtful he could be.

She walked back into the living room to see Grissom closing his phone. "That was Catherine. She wants me to meet her at the station."

"Lemme guess… Vartan is bringing Luke Walsh in?"

He squinted at her softly and ran a hand through his hair, straightening his gray curls. "Yeah."

She sighed out an okay and went into the bedroom to change, leaving the door open. She could feel him thinking in the next room; he was so still and quiet. She hated the heaviness that would settle over them when he didn't know how to frame whatever it was he needed to say. It made her uncomfortable and agitated.

"You know I can't let you interrogate him?" he finally said, voice heightened to reach her in the next room

She let the comment sink in and sighed quietly, ignoring his tactlessness. "I'm just gonna watch," she answered, returning to the living room.

He looked so serious and so handsome standing in front of her, sleep still on the edges of his face. She kissed him lightly and pulled him into a hug. "Thanks for coming over. I needed that."

"Of course," he mumbled into her hair, returning the hug.

"C'mon. Let's go," she said casually, pulling back and nodding at the door. He kept himself planted, still holding her.

She couldn't decide if she was surprised or not, that he didn't ask her more about Luke. But she could see the questions sloshing about under the surface, like a water balloon about to pop. He looked like he wanted to speak, but she couldn't let him, not right now. She pulled away, squeezing his biceps reassuringly. He quietly relented and followed her, pulling the door closed behind him.

xxx

Sara watched from the two-way mirror as Grissom, Catherine, and Vartan crowded around Luke. Luke looked composed, like he'd done nothing wrong in his life.

"So, Mr. Walsh, tell us more about your involvement with the conservatory," Vartan said.

Luke shrugged. "I already told you. I help fund some of their scientific advancements in the field of botany. I like plants."

"Orchids, right?" Grissom said deliberately. "Dr. Berwyn tells us you have quite the affinity for them."

"Well, they're beautiful flowers. Delicate, but strong. I appreciate them, yes."

"What do you do for a living, Mr. Walsh?" Vartan asked, moving around the room with his arms folded, a file folder gripped in his fingers.

"I work in sales," he answered simply. He was starting to look agitated, tapping his fingers on the table and squinting.

"What kind of sales?" Catherine asked.

"What does my occupation have to do with Sabrina Eubank's murder?" he asked, eyes darting between the three investigators. When no one answered, he lifted his eyebrows questioningly. "Well?"

Vartan walked forward and placed a file in front of him. "We took your prints the other night-thanks for those-and ran them through a federal database. You know what we found?"

Luke's mouth twisted in disdain and he sat back in his chair, clasping his hands together. "Enlighten me."

"You've got quite a record back in Boston."

Sara's senses sharpened, her heartbeat sped up. Neither Grissom or Catherine had mentioned this before walking into the interrogation room with Vartan, a fact that irritated her, and she wasn't sure she was prepared to hear it. A lump collected in her throat as she watched Luke stare at the table.

"Yeah, I was a stupid kid."

"Petty theft, breaking and entering, possession with the intent to distribute, drunk and disorderly. I'd say you were more than stupid," Vartan remarked. "You know, I have a friend that works in South Boston. Maybe he's heard of you."

"What the hell are you getting at?"

Vartan folded his arms and leaned against the wall, his face stoney. "I mean that your record looks an awful lot like a kid who got mixed up with the wrong kind of people at the wrong time in South Boston." He shrugged his shoulders and let his final comment land, "And maybe you still are."

"So, you're saying that because I got into trouble in my twenties, and because I'm from South Boston, I must be part of what? Organized crime? A Southie gangster? That's absurd. And also, by the way, incredibly offensive," he spat at Vartan.

"I'm sure it is offensive," Grissom said passively. "But that doesn't mean it isn't true."

Vartan spoke, "We aren't saying you were some kingpin in the Irish Mafia, Mr. Walsh. But we're pretty sure you know what it's like to live a life of crime... don't you?"

Luke's face slowly transitioned from insulted to thinly veiled sadness. Somewhere in there was the young man she had cared deeply for and even though the sun had set on those feelings long ago, she couldn't help but feel betrayed. She was a lot wiser, and much more critical now. Vartan's implication made more sense the longer it sank in.

"Where is Sara?" he asked suddenly, his eyes widening with a brisk realization. Sara's stomach dropped.

"That's none of your concern," Grissom answered calmly, "You're talking to us right now."

"Well, I'll talk to her," he said, a shaky edge to his voice, "If you get Sara in here, I'll talk. If not… I'm calling my lawyer."

Catherine and Grissom exchanged a quick glance and she could see Grissom's shoulders stiffen. The last thing she wanted was to talk alone with Luke, while Catherine and Grissom watched. They exited the room without answering him and rounded the corner to meet her, Vartan cutting his eyes to her in the window.

"Well, you heard him," Catherine said. "Do you want to talk to him?"

Sara looked at Grissom, who was looking at the glass. "Not really," she answered. "And I'm more than a little peeved that you guys didn't tell me about his priors."

"Sorry," Catherine offered, "Thought maybe you knew."

"If I'd known, I would have said something."

"No one's going ask you to be a character witness, Sara. What you do or don't know about his past shouldn't have any relevance on this case," Grissom said calmly.

Sara scoffed and rolled her eyes, brushing past them both.

"Sara." Grissom stopped her. She turned. "If you're not comfortable-"

Her eyes softened and she gave a reassuring nod. "It's okay. Really." He nodded back, his tension apparent.

When she entered the interrogation room, Luke looked up immediately. She ignored the way his eyes lit at the sight of her.

"Okay, I'm here. Talk. And he stays," she said, nodding to Detective Vartan.

His jaw clenched and he let a moment pass, as if organizing his thoughts. "Were you just out there watching?"

"Yeah."

"So now you know who I was back then."

She shrugged and crossed her arms over her midsection, unable to look at him. The room felt stifling, the unsaid things between them physically weighing the air down.

"Tell me something real, Luke."

He shook his head slowly, eyes glassy. "You're the type of woman that changes a man."

"I'm not sure what you mean," she replied, flustered.

"I mean that… knowing you… made a difference in my life. I'm glad that I'm getting the opportunity to tell you that."

She titled her head to the side, mouth turning downward. "Whether it's for the better remains to be seen."

"I'm not proud of what happened that night. I'm no saint. But I didn't kill her."

"But, you know who did," she encouraged him.

"If I told you what I know, would it make a difference to you personally?"

Sara pulled a face, confused. "What are you asking?"

"Would you at least start to forgive me, Sara?" he asked, eyes pleading.

Sara wriggled in her chair, horribly uncomfortable. She didn't like to think that she'd been carrying around this hurt for a young love affair gone awry all these years. But the evidence within her, the tumultuous feeling inside her gut was a disappointing indication that she had. Luke had been a young love, but the first love she had known. She'd had a unrelenting need to feel accepted and needed in an isolating world, and he had provided. When it was over, closure had never been reached, which had a lasting effect that she was only now discovering.

She pictured Grissom and Catherine behind the glass, forming their own conclusions about her past. Catherine could think what she wanted, but the idea that Grissom was learning about her through a glass wall was upsetting to her. It wasn't supposed to happen this way. She thought briefly about a time not too long ago when she'd watched him through the glass, bearing his soul to a murder suspect. It had taken her a long time to get over that glaring hurt. The parallels, in this instant at least, were startling. She refused to do the same, wanting to lay herself bare to Grissom on her own terms, and certainly not with a wall between them.

"This isn't about you... or me. Just... do the right thing," she said, drawing out the words halfheartedly.

He studied her for a moment, eyes keen. "The security cameras were recording that night. I took the tapes. They're in my hotel room." He looked away, fingers drumming the table. Sara felt disgusted.

"Why would you do that?" she said quietly, not wanting the answer just as much as she wanted it.

"Because. Dr. Berwyn killed Dr. Eubank and I took the evidence so that I'd have leverage, should I ever need it."

Sara sat back in her chair and considered him, then looked back at the window, chewing at the inside of her cheek.

Vartan interjected, pushing off the wall, "Then we're going to find the tapes and go over them. Until then, you have the right to remain silent."

Sara looked at him, feeling oddly let down as he was read his rights.

"It's that look right there that always got me," he said, as Vartan led him past her.

"What look?"

"Disappointment."

xxx

The vending machine in the police station waiting room was working, mercifully, and she pressed A8 to release a bag of plain Lay's potato chips. They slapped the bottom of the machine and she reached in to grab them, tiredly. Pulling herself back up, the familiar form of her supervisor suddenly appeared at her side.

"I'm gonna head over to Luke's hotel room. Vartan and Catherine are bringing Dr. Berwyn in," Grissom said, voice easy.

Sara nodded, pulling open the bag of chips. Grissom was looking at her, studying her. She knew that he was picking her apart, whether he meant to or not, but she brushed aside the discomfort it caused her.

"I'll come with you," she said in her most nonchalant voice, popping a chip in her mouth.

"Are you sure that's a good idea?" he asked, reaching in to grab one of her chips, a single eyebrow raised in question.

She almost told him not to patronize her, but stopped herself. Had this been several months ago, she probably wouldn't have and she realized this without anger. Whatever was happening between them had softened her, and she had relinquished herself to it wholeheartedly. She was feeling less defensive around him the more time they spent together, and more understanding to his particular lack of tact.

"Why not?" she asked, licking the salt off her lips. She watched him watch her and found it secretly thrilling. "What else should I do?"

He looked away, lips pursed, hands in pockets. His tongue clicked against the roof of his mouth. "Alright, then. I'll drive." He took another chip and grinned at her.

xxx

"He told Detective Vartan the tapes were in the safe," Grissom said, walking over to a heavy duty black safe that sat atop the floor. She watched him bend down, knowing full well that he'd memorized whatever combination Luke had rattled off to the detective.

Sara looked around. Luke's hotel room was expensive, sterile and barely used. A single black suitcase sat atop a table, the king-sized bed perfectly neat and square. It did smell faintly of his cologne, Sara noted, taking in the austerity of the room. A single blue suit hung in the open closet, making her feel an odd sense of loneliness.

Out of sheer curiosity, Sara wandered into the bathroom. Luke's toothbrush and comb sat side-by-side neatly arranged around other basic toiletries. His presence in the hotel room, even the bathroom, could barely be felt. It was yet another striking difference between the Luke she knew in Boston and the Luke she was experiencing in Vegas. He'd never been neat and orderly. His bathroom never looked so severe and exacting. As far as she could tell, he hadn't even owned a suit back then.

A shadow caught her eye behind the closed shower curtain. It surprised her enough to make her reach for her sidearm. Hand resting lightly on the butt of the gun, she pulled the curtain back slowly, revealing an orchid sitting innocently in a green plastic pot, which rested in a large cardboard box. The sheer perplexity of it stunned her. It was a relatively tall stalk with four flowers rising above one another. The flowers were eery, otherworldly even, and Sara felt a chill creep down her arms. She stared at them, eyes fixed, hand still touching her gun.

"What do we have here?" Grissom said, voice low from behind her. She jumped and grabbed her chest.

"Dammit, Grissom," she whispered, pushing out a breath of air. He looked slightly amused and touched her shoulder.

"Sorry. I didn't realize you were so jumpy."

Sara rolled her eyes and suppressed a grin, nodding at the orchids. "I'm not. What are these doing in his bathtub, I wonder."

"I can guess," Grissom answered, bending down in front of them. "This is a very rare species."

Sara edged closer, hovering over his shoulder. "What is it?"

His voice grew soft and reverent. "A Rothschild's slipper orchid. It grows in Borneo and takes about fifteen years to bloom." He looked back at her, his face slightly pained. "It's severely endangered. Valued by orchid collectors."

"Is it probative to our case, though?" she asked rhetorically.

Grissom was quiet as he stood up, his lips pulled inward in thought. They both stared at the odd flower, its delicate petals thrown horizontally as if accepting a hug.

"Even if it has nothing to do with the murder… it's certainly a crime for it to be here," Grissom said sadly, eyes not leaving the lonely stem of orchids.

Sara smiled somberly at him. "Let's get the tapes back so we can put this to rest," she said, her hand lightly on his shoulder for a small moment.

He turned to her and nodded in agreement. They finished processing the hotel room, a curious melancholy hanging in the air between them.

xxx

Grissom and Sara hovered over Archie's shoulder while he shuffled through the digitized copies of surveillance footage.

"So, almost every room in the conservatory had a camera in it," Archie said, "I've digitized every recording you collected from the suspect's hotel room. But I haven't found anything showing an actual murder."

"The orchid room didn't have security footage? I know there was a camera in that room. I saw it," Sara said, defeated.

"Not in any of the tapes you gave me," he said shrugging. "But I've only just begun to look through them. I may have more for you later."

"Page us," Grissom said gruffly, throwing a glance at Sara, a soft beckoning for her to follow him.

The walked the hallway to his office quietly. Grissom seemed distant, deeply in his head. He sat down at his desk and she sat across from him, crossing her legs and clasping her hands.

"Okay, something's on your mind," she said, finally.

He shook his head slightly. "We've got this guy in custody and he says he knows the director killed the vic. But the one piece of security footage confirming his story is conveniently missing. We know he removed evidence from the crime scene, but we don't have anything linking him to the actual murder. We have no murder weapon and no witness testimonies. And a shoe print that didn't even match either of our suspects. None of this makes sense."

Sara took a slow breath in, equally as confused as Grissom. "I'm with Catherine. I think everyone in that room knows who did it."

"But why? Why are five people, some of them from different sides of the country, protecting the murderer."

"Maybe they aren't protecting whoever killed the victim. Maybe they're protecting themselves," Sara answered.

She looked up to see him frowning at her, looking aggravatingly tentative.

"You've been looking at me like that since this case began," she said softly. He gulped and his cheek twitched. "What do you need to say to me?"

"Nothing."

She smiled kindly, gently prodding, "I can't answer a question you don't ask, Grissom."

She sat back in her chair calmly awaiting his response. She kept her eyes on him, relaxed, trying to make him feel comfortable enough to release his pent-up curiosity.

He tapped his pen quickly against his desk and swallowed. "Well," he began, "I admit I do wonder… what the nature of your relationship was with… with the suspect. You told me you were involved, but…" he flipped his hands up, unable to complete his thought. He looked miserably uncomfortable, like he was sitting on barbed wire, eyes darting restlessly.

"You want to know how involved?"

He lifted a shoulder in a bashful shrug.

"He was the first serious relationship I ever had. We were together for about a year. It... didn't end well."

"Oh."

Sara pulled back a halfway smile, her loose brown curls falling as she hung her head in thought. "Why didn't you take me off this case?"

Grissom looked at her, confusion rippling his forehead. "You asked me not to."

"No, I told you you didn't need to. But you could have… and normally would have. Why didn't you?" She wasn't upset or irate and hoped that came across in her light prodding of his intentions. His glasses were down over his nose as he stared at the collection of tchotchkes and scientific regalia on his desk, hands fiddling with a tiny white rodent skull like a luck charm.

She considered letting him off the hook, like she would normally do, but the discomfort the question had caused him made her curious.

Finally, lifting his eyebrows in resignation, he conceded, "Maybe I should've…. I guess I was hoping you'd tell me it wasn't a big deal. That... maybe he was no one special." He screwed his face up feebly and wouldn't look at her. The glow from his laptop lit his face in a cool blue, accentuating every line in his brow. He was so heart-wrenchingly attractive to her, even when he was discomposed.

She opened her mouth to speak, but had nothing to say. She almost laughed at Grissom's obvious delusion that there hadn't been any other important men in her life. She put herself in his place for a moment, thinking about the other women that had flowed through his life in the time she had known him and the thought made her stomach clench. She had been irrationally jealous on more than one occasion. He'd been guilty of the same thing, but had never admitted it like he was doing now.

"Well..." She smiled warmly. "This would be weird for me, too." His eyes flicked up to meet hers, then darted back down. She took a deep breath and continued. "When things ended between me and Luke, it was hard for me to stay in Boston. I just kept looking for him everywhere. If I'm honest... he's one of the reasons I decided to go to Berkley for graduate school."

She looked back up. He was looking at her pensively. She felt exposed, but found that it wasn't quite as unpleasant as she thought it would be. The honesty of the moment was freeing and left her heart feeling soft. She let herself smile at him lightly, eyes crinkling. "If I hadn't… I guess we would never have met."

His mouth opened slightly and he looked up, head shaking right to left in disbelief. He looked back to her, his face relaxing in the blue light. "Sara… I can't even imagine it."

Her smiled perservered though all she wanted to do was reach across the desk and kiss him as fully and deeply as possible. She tried to say me either, but no words would form, the look of affection in Grissom's eyes hugging her heart.

Grissom and Sara's phones beeped simultaneously, kicking them from their moment of honest reflection. They shared one last intimate look and withdrew from his office.

"What've you got?" Grissom asked Archie, hovering over the tech's shoulder.

"Alright check this out. So all evening the group stays together. We can see them moving from room to room, chatting, whatnot, until about 7:30pm. They exit the showroom and go into the orchid room."

"All of them?" Sara asked.

"All of them," Archie answered. "And even though we don't have footage of what happened in the orchid room, at 8:04pm Dr. Berwyn runs out of the room in a serious hurry lookin' pretty guilty of something."

Grissom pulled his glasses down and leaned into the screen, watching Dr. Robert Berwyn rush from the orchid room and into the sensory garden. "He's got something in his hands."

"The films pretty gnarly. I need to clean it up. But whatever it was…. watch this." He pressed play and they watched as Berwyn threw it into the tall grasses than lined the outside of the garden.

"Sara, didn't you say a rock was missing from the pathway in the orchid room?"

"Yeah, we never found it."

Archie pointed. The screen was black and white, but Berwyn's shirt was splattered with a dark liquid that could only be blood. "Now watch him. He runs through the sensory garden then through what I assume is the orchid room. He appears in the lobby, then goes into the office area where there aren't any cameras. Comes back out five minutes later and… ta-da."

"He changed his clothes," Sara said.

Grissom looked at her and nodded. "And his shoes, I imagine."

"I'm going back to the crime scene. Maybe that rock is still somewhere in the grass," Sara said, marching out of the A/V room with a purpose.

xxx

Sara's eyes felt grainy and too large for their sockets, as she stared at Luke through the two-way mirror. She was unbearably tired and dreading her conversation with Luke, but it was unavoidable. He wouldn't talk to anyone else and Vartan wasn't having any luck with the rest of the conservatory guests. No one was speaking, buttoned up like a wool coat in a Northeastern winter. She just wanted it over, behind her, so she could move on.

She walked slowly into the interrogation room and sat down in front of Luke. He looked sullen, unable to meet her eye.

"We got the tapes," she said.

"And you watched 'em?"

"There's one missing, Luke. Where is it?"

"You have what you need."

"Let's not play games," she said, the exhaustion evident in her tone. Her brow felt heavy, sinking over her eyes. "Where is the security tape of the orchid room?"

He shook his head, looking away.

"Luke, help me help you. If you didn't kill Dr. Eubank, why did you help hide the evidence? And then admit to it… just to give us only half of what we need to clear you."

He remained silent, but she could tell he wanted to speak. He looked like a pot about to boil over, heated and anxious. She laid a photo of the rock she had collected from the reeds in the sensory garden. In high definition was a well-ridged fingerprint in blood. She stared at him, willing him to look at her.

"You know whose fingerprint that is, don't you?" she asked, pointing to the bloody smudge. "He threw it in the grass, but couldn't find it when he went back to look for it. Is that what you were looking for when you were there the other night?" His eyes shot up to hers quickly. "Why are you covering for him?"

"Sara," he sighed, defeated, "Don't you get it? I'm covering for me."

She looked at him sadly. "Did you kill her?"

"No."

"Then what do you mean?"

He sucked a breath in slowly, his chest heaving dramatically. He scooted closer, laying his forearms on the cold metal of the table. His head fell and his voice reverberated against the steel.

"Do you wonder why you never saw it? Never saw that side of me?" Sara was silent, waiting for an answer to the rhetorical question he was asking. "You were so young and pretty. Naive. When I was with you, I was someone else."

Her voice was broken and small. "What does any of this have to do with—"

"Robert Berwyn killed Sabrina Eubank because she found out what we were doing. What we've been doing for years. And everyone there witnessed it and said nothing because they were just as guilty."

"Of. What?"

He opened his mouth and closed it again, then took a long breath in and out. "I acquire certain things for certain people at a hefty price. Dr. Fischer, Dr. Berwyn, Mr. and Mrs. Valentine. They're just a few of my clients."

Sara groaned, the image of the sad and desolate orchid still fresh in her mind. "The orchid in your bathtub."

Luke flinched. "So you saw it."

"Yes."

"It's a very rare orchid. Smuggled from a very remote place. A very illegal place. And I was selling it to Dr. Berwyn. Dr. Eubank caught on to where all of his rare species were coming from over the years and surprised our little viewing party in the orchid room."

"So he killed her? Over a flower?" Sara was incredulous.

"An idea, Sara. A very expensive one. She threatened to expose him to the board. He'd lose any and all academic accreditation, and could face serious charges for owning half of the species in his collection."

"All acquired by you," she spat out, sitting back in her chair, aghast.

"Yes." He was quiet for a moment. Sara felt frozen. "And Dr. Berwyn had the means to expose me."

"You steal—" she took a breath in, closing her eyes, trying to comprehend what he was saying. The ire was sapped from her voice. She was left only with uncomfortable perplexity as she stared at his icy blue eyes. "You steal orchids?"

"Among other things." He massaged his neck with one hand and looked away guiltily. "Once you know someone's obsession — their weakness — it's only a matter of finding out how to take advantage of it. How to make it work for you."

Sara scowled. "Where is the other tape?"

"If the D.A. is willing to make me a deal, I'll tell you where the tape is. And you'll have the evidence you truly need to convict him."

"Well, that's between you and the D.A. I'm leaving."

She pulled herself out of the chair and stood. She looked down on Luke and, suddenly, she saw the young man that she used to love. He looked weak and unsure, without the cheerful gusto to hide behind.

"Your weakness, Sara. I took advantage of that too and I'm sorry."

Sara looked away, stomach twisting. The apology seemed genuine, but only turned her a dark mixture of angry and bitter. She said nothing, but clenched her jaw so harshly that it made the muscles in her face ache.

"I took advantage of your need to feel accepted, to be a part of something." His voice cracked. "I've never forgiven myself for it."

She opened her mouth, clicking her tongue against the roof of her mouth. She had nothing to say, so she didn't, and walked out.

_Boston, Massachusetts — May 1992_

Sara and Luke sat in the very bar he had been fighting in only a week ago. Everything about the place made Sara's skin crawl now, like a veil had been lifted. She sipped on a Coke, watching Luke work behind the bar. Behind him, a woman that looked remarkably like her mother downed her third beer. Her hair was ratty, clothes stained. Sara's stomach turned and she shook her head in disgust.

"Is this really what you want to do with the rest of your life?"

Her voice was accidentally condescending, but she was more concerned than disappointed with Luke. Ever since the fight in the pub, he'd been different. Affection was still there, but there was a distance to him that made her feel set apart. Luke stopped wiping the counter of the bar, his hand stilling, gripping the white cotton cloth. The empty look on his face told her she'd gone too far with her question.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean-"

"I know what you meant," he cut her off. "This isn't good enough."

"Luke-"

"I should have seen this coming," he said, a dangerous amount of anger lacing his words. "This is why boys from Southie shouldn't date Harvard girls."

Sara felt a cold chill zip through her. "What do you mean by that?"

He finally looked up, eyes drained. In her time in Boston, Luke had been that one thing that made her feel welcome, feel accepted. The idea that, deep down, he considered himself separate from her cut deeply.

"Forget it." He gripped the worn countertop, dipped his head, and sighed forcibly. "Forget I said that."

"No, what do you mean by Harvard girl? You obviously have some sort of pre-conceived notion of what it means to be a Harvard girl so what is it?" She was scowling, her tone derisive. Her defenses were up, compelling her to seek higher ground where he couldn't hurt her.

He leveled with her, eyes steely. "I'm so tired of feeling inadequate with you."

She gave a sardonic grin, anger rising like a tide during a hurricane. The Red Hot Chili Peppers song drifting from the jukebox was too upbeat, had too much rift. The bar was otherwise quiet and placid, regulars still at their day jobs. It was just after 4pm and the summer sun was still high enough in the sky that buttery light scattered across the wooden floorboards, exposing the settled dust.

Sara scoffed at the uncomfortable silence between them, speechless. Finally, eyes narrowing, she said, "Whose fault is that?"

"It doesn't matter. I'm never gonna be the spoiled kid that got straight A's, with the white picket fence and soccer practice, all that bullshit that leads to a fancy Harvard physics degree."

"Oh, I see. You think that was me." Her face felt tight and hot, her heart pounded with the adrenaline of anger suppressed. She slid off the stool. "Don't make assumptions about my life. You know nothing about it."

"Oh? And whose fault is that?" he said, throwing her words back in her face, practically spitting them at her.

Even in her current state of indignation, even with her temper rising, she could concede to his comment. She never shared herself with him and, she understood why their relationship had been so easy until now. He hadn't shared himself with her, either, and so she never felt guilty for keeping her darkest secrets locked away. She never asked it of him, so he didn't have the right to ask it of her. Although their love had felt real to her, it had always been a shallow kind of love. It was fading slowly like air leaking from a microscopic hole in an innertube.

She slumped into the bar, her pride receding a bit. "Yeah, I know," she said quietly, eyes pasted to the shine of the counter.

He walked away and she flicked her eyes upward to watch him while he slid a beer to a man with a white, crunchy beard. He walked back over to her, standing straight up. His hand reached out and grazed her forearm, which rested on the bar.

"Hey. Let's not fight," he said, his voice low and apologetic. But he didn't sound the same to her anymore. "I'm gonna take a quick smoke break. Come with me."

He rounded the bar and stood beside her. His eyes, blue and bright all of a sudden, were smiling. He cupped her chin and she couldn't help but smile back, a halfway grin that barely moved her left cheek. He had been so fun, so alive. Exactly what she had needed. She covered his hand with hers on her face and pulled it down, squeezing it lightly.

"I've got to study," she said lightly. The smile on her face was a gradient between appeasement and artificial happiness. If he saw it, he didn't react.

"Call me later?" he asked, lightly grabbing the tip of her nose with his thumb and index finger, an adoring move that would have made her blush before now.

"Sure."

"Are we okay?"

Sara thought for a moment and pulled him into a tight hug. "We're okay," she mumbled into his t-shirt, his muscles firm against her cheek. She felt him kiss the top of her head and she pulled away, relenting a small smile to him.

She stepped out of the bar and into the sun, breathing in the hot summer air, feeling like she was awaking from a diverting, but unsustainable dream.

_to be continued..._


	6. Chapter 6

She sat on a bench outside of the police station with her head thrown back, watching the leaves of the trees mingle in the wind. She felt Grissom sit down beside her, leaving a friendly amount of distance between them.

"There you are," he said sweetly and she picked her head up to look at him.

"Hey," she replied, smiling dolefully. His face, his eyes, everything about him was remarkably soothing.

"I just spoke with the D.A."

"And?"

His mouth twitched. "He did, in fact, make a deal with Luke Walsh. He'll walk on the obstruction charges."

"I expected as much." She looked up at him. "And the orchids?"

"That's not up to the D.A. He'll be investigated by the Wildlife Service. Without hard evidence, who knows? He'll probably be tied up in that investigation for the next five years of his life."

Sara huffed, shaking her head, gripping the warm wood of the bench. "What a crappy thing to do, you know? Steal something priceless from nature for someone's personal collection. It's just as bad as smuggling a tiger to serve as a trophy pet. Everything about it just makes me sick."

Grissom nodded and said matter-of-factly, "Orchid collectors are basically addicts. They start out buying them as innocent decorations at their local home improvement store and before they know it, they're looking for something more exotic, something even more rare. There are those that become relentless in that pursuit." Grissom paused and his voice lost its even, professorial tone. "Orchids in particular are beautiful and incredibly strong. Wonderful and strange. But, if not cared for, extremely vulnerable."

"A metaphor for the human condition, perhaps?" Sara added sadly. Grissom hummed in response. Sara wished they were alone so she could lay her head in his lap and watch the clouds drift by.

A light breeze blew over them, pushing her hair into her face. Grissom's hand reached up for a moment toward her, but he must have thought better of whatever he was going to do and sat it back down on the bench between them. She smiled at him, letting out a quiet chuckle, as he looked ahead.

"I feel like I should apologize," she said finally.

"Why?"

A moment passed, dead leaves skittering about on the sidewalk. High heels clacking by and car engines starting. Grissom waited, always patiently.

"Just... all of my baggage, Grissom. I always try to forget, to run away from it, but the universe finds a way to throw it all back in my lap. And of all people, you're there to witness it."

Sara looked away to stave off a welling of emotions. He made her feel a sense of raw vulnerability that no one else in her life ever had. She wanted to rip herself apart sometimes, expose every detail of her cracked and frayed past with him. Sometimes, she had to physically stop herself from it. It was like her heart was telling her, go ahead, it's okay. But her brain was telling her to withdraw.

"Sara, I... For whatever it's worth... I feel closer to you. Now more than ever." His voice was husky, laden with emotion. She finally turned her head, away from the late morning sun, to look at him. His eyebrows were stitched together as he worried his bottom lip. His hand fanned out on the bench, a moment of quiet and wordless emotion passing between them.

Before she could speak, Grissom's eyes shifted, landing over her shoulder as he looked past her. His eyebrows went up, face slacking. She instinctually looked over her shoulder to see Luke approaching them. She sighed loudly and muttered a salty curse.

Luke stood by the bench, hands in pockets, looking sheepish. "They released me."

"Lucky you," she said acerbically, pulling her sunglasses back down.

"Can we talk?" he asked hesitantly, glancing over at Grissom. Sara looked over at her companion on the bench. He remained silent, his face solid and stern on Luke. "Alone? Please, Sara."

Sara didn't want to be alone with Luke, but felt an obligation to herself to put a final nail in the proverbial coffin and let go of all of it wholeheartedly, without regret and malice. The moment that passed between the three of them was awkward, but Sara pushed through it.

"Fine. Meet me at the diner across the street. I'll be there soon," she said faintly, eyes on the sidewalk in front of her.

He smiled, though it was sad and remorseful. "Thank you."

"You know," Grissom addressed him suddenly, his voice tinged with a certain revulsion that Sara found incredibly revealing, "There's always gonna to be someone or something that's weak enough for you to exploit... that will help you further whatever cause you have. I have no patience for wildlife crime, Mr. Walsh. I'll make it my personal mission to see that there's justice, even for that sad little flower that you kept prisoner in your hotel bathtub."

Luke said nothing, but there was a blatant guilt adhered to his face as he stared at his feet. Sara felt a fervent sense of pride in the way Grissom had berated him, knowing she couldn't have done it herself. He walked away, leaving Grissom and Sara alone on the bench.

After a few seconds of silence, breeze blowing over them again, Grissom cleared his throat. "You gonna be okay?" he asked.

"Yeah," she answered immediately. "I just need to put the whole thing behind me."

Grissom looked at her thoughtfully, standing up from the bench. "There's nothing wrong with having baggage, Sara. But you don't have to lug it around by yourself all the time." He held his hand out for her to grab. She looked up at him and slipped her hand in his, letting him pull her up. She dropped her hand down quickly, glancing around them. It had been an innocent gesture, but it meant more than anyone else could possibly know.

"I'm headed home," he said, pulling his keys from his pocket, jangling them against his palm. "Call me if you like, when you're done."

She pressed her lips together and ducked her head, wanting badly to pull him into a hug, to just rest her head against his warm chest. She nodded silently at him. He walked past her, offering her a gentle, loving smile, touching her with everything but his body.

_Boston, Massachusetts — June 1992_

Sara knocked on the door of apartment 2W and was met with silence. She knocked again, her knuckles scraping the flaking navy blue paint. She heard scuffling before the door flew open. Luke stood before her, looking unkempt and distressed. He looked behind her, eyes flitting to the sides nervously.

"Come in, come in," he said. She passed by him, suppressing the need to badger him with angry questions. He smelled like a mix between whiskey and body odor. She crinkled her nose up at him as he hurried over to the bed where a duffle bag sat, halfway packed.

His studio apartment was always depressingly dark and tattered with a downplayed smell of spoiled milk, mildewy carpets, and cigars. It was in a dodgy part of town, and she hated spending any amount of time in it. It reminded her too much of home. She stood still, watching him as he threw clothes unceremoniously into the bag.

"What are you doing here, Sara?" he asked with irritation, not looking at her.

"I got your letter," she said, pulling it out of her purse, "Pretty cowardly, don't ya think?

He stopped and looked up at her. "It was the best I could do given the circumstances."

"What circumstances?"

His eyes landed on the dresser and she followed them. A 9mm pistol sat innocently atop strewn about magazines. He crossed the room and grabbed the gun, tucking it in his waistband and pulling his leather jacket on.

"Don't worry about it," he muttered, zipping up the duffel bag.

"Where are you going?"

"Goddamit, Sara! Stop asking so many questions!" he yelled. Sara flinched. He shut his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. His voice softened. "We're over… okay?"

Sara pressed her lips together, a dull sadness creeping over her. "Just like that?" she whispered.

His hard eyes seemed to relax for a moment before taking a cruel turn. His face reddened as he threw the strap of the bag over his shoulder.

"What do you want me to say? I wanted you to see someone in me that doesn't exist. And you're young. You're beautiful. The sex was great."

Sara could only stare at him as the last year played out brutally in front of her, like a gritty vintage projector clicking on and rolling.

He shook his head and looked away. "Don't look at me like that. You used me just as much as I used you. Without me, you'd have fallen in a book somewhere and no one would even have known you were missing."

"Wow," Sara croaked out, "That's… I really don't know you do I? I don't remember you being so callous."

"I don't know you any better than you know me."

She couldn't disagree. What had she really shared of herself to the man standing in front of her? What had she ever shared with anyone?

He walked past her and she stood, pinned to the stained carpet underneath her. He stopped at the door and she heard him let out a dejected sigh. "I'm a sinking stone, Sara. Forget about me. Please."

The door slammed behind her. She resolved that she would forget Luke Walsh, no matter what it took.

**xxx**

Frank's Restaurant smelled like bacon and maple syrup which was oddly comforting to Sara despite her dietary preferences. A country rock song played over the radio, accompanying the sound of scraping silverware and clanking coffee cups. She scanned the room, noticing Luke immediately in the corner, tapping on the table nervously to the sound of the music. She slid into the booth, locking eyes with him.

"This has gotta be the last time I see you, Luke" she said without preamble, placing her hands in front of her on the tabletop. "So whatever you have to say, say it now."

"I get that." He looked out the window, taking a sip from his coffee mug. His hands clasped over the warmth of the mug and he looked down, his voice quieter. "I just want to, I don't know, try and explain."

"Explain?"

"Sara when we met, you… you looked at me like no one else has ever looked at me before. You lit up. You thought I was so much better than I was. And when I was with you, I believed it."

"A lot of good that did you," she replied bleakly. She poured cream in her own mug and stirred longer than she needed to, happy to focus on a menial task.

"It did me a lot of good, until I realized I was living a lie. I was caught up in a lot of bad stuff and I tried to get out of it, but… eventually I just realized it was ingrained in me. I never could escape that. I never did."

Despite her bitterness toward Luke, she could empathize with that. She knew better than most how hard it was to overcome a toxic past, to purge the poison from her veins. But one thing she realized, even in her most humble moments, was that she did overcome it.

"When that girl — I can't even remember her name now — introduced us in that dirty little pub, I saw a chance to escape that shitty life I was leading. If only for a little while."

Sara looked at him, feeling suddenly compassionate. For the first time, she noticed the lines on his face, the evidence of time and weariness. His hair was a lighter red than it had been years ago, flecked with gray and blonde. Though she thought dismally of his actions, she could still see the twenty-something bar-tender that she'd given her heart to so long ago. Her heart broke for the girl that fell in love so easily, so superficially. And for the boy that let her.

"Luke… I'm sorry too. I was trying to escape something myself and… I'm sure I used you to do that."

Luke gave a short laugh, running his hand through his red and gray hair. "It could have just been a fun little thing except… we fell in love, huh?"

Sara couldn't disagree. She gave a dismal nod, the corners of her mouth twisting into a small frown. "I guess so."

"About what I said a few days ago… About asking you to come with me that night? I shouldn't have said that."

"No, you shouldn't have."

He swallowed. "I wouldn't have asked. I really wanted you to forget about me, fall out of love with whoever you thought I was."

"Well, congratulations. It worked."

The sun was rising higher and higher, telling her to go home and go to bed. Her eyelids felt sticky and heavy. She he exhaled slowly, preparing to close this particular chapter in her life for good.

"That guy you were with outside earlier, the other CSI, is that your—" Her head snapped up. His eyes widened for a small second; he shook his head. "Nevermind."

Sara considered him for a moment and slid out of the booth. "I forgive you for walking away that night, okay? In retrospect, I'm glad you did. But I can't forgive you for trying to hide the murder, or the senseless wildlife crime. That's not up to me. You have to live with that."

"I know."

She pulled a few dollar bills out of her wallet and threw them on the table. Shrugging on her jacket, she looked at him squarely. "Stop being a prisoner to your past, Luke. You can still get out of it, if you want to badly enough."

He nodded in agreement and she turned away, head up, feeling resolved.

 

_to be continued..._


	7. Chapter 7 (Final Chapter)

 

_Thunder rumbles in the distance, a quiet intensity_

_I am willful, your insistence is tugging at the best of me_

_You're the moon, I'm the water_

_You're Mars, calling up Neptune's daughter_

_**The Weepies** _

 

Sara didn't call Grissom. Instead, she drove to his home, needing desperately to see his face and feel his presence. She sat in her car, drumming the steering wheel nervously. Despite how close they were getting, she still felt a great deal of trepidation where Grissom was concerned. Without the pretense of work, she was apprehensive, unsure of how rigid Grissom's personal boundaries were.

Pushing it all aside, throwing caution to the wind, she stepped out into the noon heat. The parking lot was newly paved, giving off a toxic and weighty odor. It was gummy on her shoes, unpleasant, but she moved past it and up to his door, knocking three times.

She bit her lip and looked up as the door flew open. He was grinning at her, surprised.

"Hey there," he said, staring at her with wide eyes. She pulled her sunglasses off and smiled back.

"Hey, sorry I didn't call. I just…" — she shrugged a single shoulder —"I wanted to see you."

"I don't mind." He stepped aside pulling his hand up in an inviting gesture. She believed him, which relaxed her considerably.

Sara walked past him and the smell of the asphalt was immediately replaced by the something homey and soothing, chamomile tea maybe. His eyes weren't leaving hers. She couldn't discern the look on his face, but he wasn't off-putting. Perhaps a tad awkward, but inviting in his own way.

She looked around his townhouse, taking in the decor like she hadn't been able to years ago. There was something austere about it, but it made sense for him. Books overflowed the shelves, a chess game sat atop a table, frozen in time like the dead insects on his walls. Classical music, Schubert perhaps, bounced off the open living room. It was overwhelming being surrounded so fully by him. Guiltily, she felt like she was in some sort of domiciliary zoo, observing a strange creature in his natural habitat.

"So…" he said, no direction in his voice. She could tell he was battling instinctual discomfort at her impromptu invasion of his personal space. She could also tell he was working to move past it, which was satisfying. He was flicking his fingers nervously. His light blue jeans and worn Cubs t-shirt gave him a youthful quality that reminded her of when they'd first met. "Can I get you anything?"

"A stiff drink," she replied, only half serious with an ironic grin.

"I have red wine."

"Perfect."

Before walking past her, he bent down and kissed her gently, his thumb grazing her jaw and holding her in place. There was something habitual about it, pleasingly familiar.

"Make yourself at home," he said nonchalantly. She wondered if it was a difficult thing for him to say, let alone mean.

She drifted over to the couch, sitting down, forearms resting on her knees as she watched him unscrew a cork from a bottle of wine. Grissom's coffee table was cluttered with books, journals, and magazines. Some were dog-eared, some were flipped over, spines face-up. She picked up a glossy new copy of The Forensic Examiner and scanned an article about handwriting analysis, barely taking in the words. Grissom sat down on the couch, putting a half-filled glass of merlot in front of her.

"So… how'd it go?" he asked, taking a long swig of his wine.

"I think it went okay," she said, giving a non-committed shrug. Grissom was looking at her, lips pursed in thought, eyes slightly smaller.

Sara turned to face him, pulling her leg up onto the cool leather of the couch. He seemed surprised by her sudden shift in movement, his eyebrows flicking upward in curiosity. He grinned at her and mimicked her movement, pulling his own leg up so that they faced each other, his arm dropping on the back of the sofa.

The music changed to something slightly more familiar, a piano rendition of something more recent that she couldn't place. They looked softly at each other and her tension melted away, the warmth of the wine flowing through her. Perhaps a dozen divulging and heavy thoughts passed through her head. When she wasn't at work, the early afternoon always made her slightly more unrestrained, perhaps because her body attributed it to the strange time before she drifted away into sleep, her more abstract and wayward thoughts singing in her head like a fever dream. It didn't help that she was fatigued, the last few days having worn her down like a river flowing over a rock. She pressed her lips together to keep from talking. But, she wanted to talk, more than ever. She wanted to say all of the things, one by one, that she could never say to another person in her life. She looked down at her wine glass and smiled to herself.

"He was my first love. I thought, anyway. The first person that ever made me feel… a part of something. It wasn't real, though."

"Why wasn't it real?"

She shook her head slowly, thoughtfully. "I never really knew him. And he never really knew me."

"Well," he said, shrugging, "that doesn't mean the feelings weren't real."

"How real could they be? We were together for the better part of a year and I can't remember one revealing thing I told him about myself. It never occurred to me to open up about myself and my past. With anyone." She swallowed the last of her wine and finally looked up at him. "Except with you."

His mouth dropped open slightly, but she knew he didn't have words. He rarely did. She felt her cheeks flush and the glass felt suddenly fragile in her hand, like if she held it any longer she'd shatter it. She set it down on the coffee table, ignoring the flutter in her stomach as she reached for Grissom's glass. He was holding it lightly in his hand and let go willingly. She set it down, a true-to-life thunk against the wood echoing between them. He licked his lips, his eyes locked intently on her, the muscles in his temples pulsing as he clenched his jaw.

Sara leaned over and hovered close to Grissom's face, her mouth inches from his. He was still, eyes serious and shifting back and forth from her eyes to her lips. He bit his bottom lip and she couldn't handle it anymore. She thrust forward, kissing him deeply and pressing her body closer to his. He sank lower and lower on the couch, hands on her hips, sliding up her shirt just enough to make contact with her bare skin. She shivered and moaned, a wild fire was sweeping through her body. She could smell the lavender shampoo in her own hair as it fell over them both, curtaining their faces.

He groaned beneath her as she straddled his lap, pouring herself into him, connecting her body with his as much as possible. He began lifting her shirt and she raised her arms to let him pull it off. He leaned back, taking her in, an array of emotions on his face. She let him look, feeling fearless as he took in the site of her, aroused and tousled. He shook his head and bit his lip again, a shaky exhale escaping him.

" _This_ is real," he said emphatically, pulling her back down and locking his lips with hers. The taste of wine in his mouth, mixed with something distinctly him, was compelling and she wasn't sure if she could ever quite get enough of it.

She pulled back to gather some air and held his head in her hands. "As real as it gets," she agreed in a whisper, eyes closed. Her hand slid under his t-shirt and rested over his heart. His skin was heated and his head flopped back dramatically against the armrest. He had a small smile on his face, but his eyes were shut.

She'd never experienced him this way, completely vulnerable and connected to his own emotions. It heightened her sensibilities to know that she could cause him to yield in such a way.

She stood and held her hand out for him to grab. He did but immediately took the lead, pulling her into his bedroom wordlessly.

xxx

Grissom's bedroom was dark, but a sliver of light escaped through a crack in the blackout curtains, slicing across the bed. She could still hear the sleepy piano music from the living room, though it had faded significantly in her ears while they had made love. The sound of his right hand banging against the headboard and sliding down in a thrilling screech as he tumbled over the edge was the only clear sound she could recall, though she could remember every tiny sensation she had felt as they moved together.

She wondered how someone could be so thoughtful, yet hasty. So arranged in each movement, yet entirely lost in the moment.

Quickly, she grabbed his t-shirt from the floor and pulled it over her head, breathing in the unique scent that was huddled into the fabric. She smiled, pressing her lips together, feeling giddy and flushed, thankful for the small amount of light in the room.

He returned from the restroom, padding over to the bed in nothing but boxer shorts, appearing not the least bit flustered.

"Are you tired?" he asked, as he slipped in-between the sheets, his body touching hers as he sat against the headboard.

She looked up at him, head lolling against the pillow. She had barely enough energy to answer. "So tired. You're not?"

"I'm hungry."

She smiled. "You should be."

He gave a deep, short chuckle and slid down, turning his body to face hers, propping his head in his left hand. He picked up her hand, connecting the pads of their fingers, then linking them together intimately. He scooted closer, kissing her on the forehead sweetly. His beard was scratchy against her skin, but she ignored it, content with the sheer purity of the moment.

"I was thinking," he said, his voice somewhat raspy. He paused and she could feel him grow a bit hotter, trepidation taking over.

"As usual," she teased and felt him smile against her forehead. He didn't speak, though, so she encouraged him, "About what?"

He swallowed and she remained patient as he gathered his thoughts. "About something Luke Walsh said to you during your interview with him."

Sara winced at the name. It didn't fit in their moment, though she was more than little curious about his line of thought. He continued playing with her hand shyly, hesitantly.

"He said that… that you're the type of woman that changes a man."

Sara recalled the comment and gave a mirthless laugh, Luke's slipshod attempt at flattery making her a little angry all over again. "I don't know how true that is."

There was a moment of silence and he pulled her closer, his hand warm on the small of her back. They were getting sweaty, cuddled so close, but she couldn't care.

He took in an unsteady breath. "You're changing—" He stopped short and cleared his throat. His chest rose and fell. "You've _changed_ me, Sara."

Sara let the words wash over her and they elicited an incredible feeling of unravelling. Tears welled up in her eyes and rolled down her cheeks after a single blink. She rolled her face into the pillow, quickly wiping them away. A lump formed in her throat as she toyed with the band of his boxer shorts, an idle thing to focus on while she considered her response.

He continued more confidently, his voice beautifully low in her ear, "I just want you to know that" —he swallowed, pulled her tighter — "you _are_ a part of something… a part of _me_. Since the moment I met you."

Sara's breath snagged on the lump in her throat; fat tears rolled down and she let them dry on her cheeks. His fingers danced lovingly in her hair. The room felt incredibly still and she couldn't bring herself to speak in it.

She nodded into his bare chest and felt his thumb wipe a tear away. This side of Grissom was wonderfully new to her: open and sensitive, unapologetically nurturing. She understood it was more an exception than the rule with him, but she basked in it nonetheless. Perhaps, she wondered, this was how he was after such raw intimacy, talkative and vulnerable. She'd probably file it away and refer to it whenever he was restrained and withholding.

They lay in silence for minutes until Grissom pulled back. She could see him grinning in the low light of the room. "I have something I want to show you," he said, eyes sparkling.

"Alright," she drawled out sleepily, letting her head hit the pillow again as he climbed out of bed.

He disappeared from the room and returned a few minutes later. When he got closer, she noticed a photograph in his hand. He switched on the bedside lamp, the soft glow illuminating the room, giving depth to the brilliant smile he was wearing for her. He sat down beside her on the mattress, the photo obscured.

"Are you gonna let me see?"

He looked at her for a moment, eyes narrowing, teasing her. Finally, he held the photo out to her and she felt an instant surge of nostalgia. There they both were, younger versions of themselves, smiling at a camera and pressed closely together. The Golden Gate Bridge stood proudly in the background, an expanse of blue water blanketed underneath it. She could still hear the waves crashing against the crags in the beach and the gulls singing overhead. She looked so carefree and happy. Grissom looked slightly more aloof, but she could see the delight in his eyes. He had been happy that day too.

"We look so young," she said, more to herself than him.

"We do."

"Feels like a lifetime ago." She looked up at him, meeting his eyes. "You never did send me a copy of this."

He looked at her incredulously, forehead wrinkling dramatically. He snatched the photo from her hand and a small smile appeared when he looked at it a little closer.

"Maybe I wanted to keep it for myself." She didn't know what he meant, so she kept quiet, watching him look at the picture. "That was a good day," he said fondly.

She nodded and her head flopped to his shoulder. The corners of the photo were turned up and tattered. A light crease adorned the center, as if it had been handled frequently. She imagined Grissom pulling the photo out and staring at it, emptying a glass of scotch while he worked up the courage to call her, never quite reaching a point where he could actually pick up the phone. The image made her sad and she pushed it away.

She'd never seen the picture, but the memory surrounding it was heart wrenching to her. Their relationship before she had moved to Las Vegas was surreal, like a dream that she couldn't quite explain after waking. The years that followed her arrival in Vegas had practically wiped it all away, rendered it null and void. He'd been so different in San Francisco. She was just beginning to see that man again and only in short spurts, but it pleased her nonetheless. After all, that had been who she'd fallen in love with.

He kissed the top of her head and hopped up in a rush, pulling a plain white t-shirt out of his dresser. He pulled it on, eyeing her. "Since you stole my favorite shirt."

She grinned. "I may keep it. Sorry."

He grunted and propped the photo against a murky green ecosphere sitting atop the dresser. She smiled, chewing coyly on her thumbnail, wondering what he was going to do next.

He held his hand out to her. "C'mon. I'll make us a sandwich. Then, I might let you sleep."

She let him pull her out of bed and glanced at the photo, then back to Grissom. Her heart quivered looking at him. She thought of the younger version of herself in the photo and tried to remember what she thought of Gil Grissom then. Her memories were so clouded by everything that had happened since, she found it difficult.

"What do you remember about that day?" she asked as they walked into his kitchen. The music had stopped, leaving a quiet vacuum.

He fumbled in the refrigerator for a moment then turned to look at her. Then, as if there were no other possibility, he answered, "Everything."

She sighed at him, eyes heavy. She wasn't sure she could remember everything. One thing she could remember, though, was falling. And hitting love harder than she could have ever imagined.

 

_San Francisco, California — October 1998_

 

The auditorium was emptying slowly, too slowly for Sara as she patiently sat in the back. Gil Grissom was shaking hands with a stodgy looking older man, a professional smile plastered on his face. But he had seen her and she saw his eyes flick past the man, landing on her every few seconds. Ever since meeting Grissom earlier that year at the Forensic Academy Conference, she couldn't get him out of her head. When he'd told her he was speaking at the Forensics Forum in San Francisco, she'd bitten down her excitement, but promised him she'd be there. The prospect of seeing him again, not just reading and re-reading his emails or replaying their phone conversations, had caused a dangerous stir inside of her. One that she couldn't stop grappling with.

Feeling sufficiently awkward, she gathered her things and ambled to the front of the room where he stood. The last of the guests exited and they were finally alone.

"Well, hello Miss Sidle," he said affably as she approached him. She felt a heat wash through her as she took him in. He looked positively brilliant in his black suit and cornflower blue tie. The dark rim of his eyeglasses complimented his light blue eyes. When she got closer, she could tell he was blushing a bit as he gathered his papers on the podium. It filled her with a small amount of confidence, though her stomach was still in knots at the sight of him.

"Dr. Grissom," she said brightly, pressing her lips together tightly to hide her growing smile.

He gave her a stern look, a silent admonishment for calling him Dr. Grissom. "I'll have you know, I cleared my schedule so that you could inundate me with questions."

Sara laughed, gripping the strap of her messenger bag tightly. "Well, I have only one today."

He raised his eyebrows in question, a small grin on his face as he placed the last of his things in his bag.

"Would you like to get some lunch?" she asked, the breeziness in her voice entirely affected.

"I would."

"Great!" she answered quickly, too quickly for her liking. She couldn't stop smiling, couldn't stop her heart from beating loudly in her ear.

"If you don't mind, I'm going to stop by my hotel room and change out of this stuffy suit," he said, throwing his bag over his shoulder and loosening his tie.

She almost told him how good he looked in it, but stopped herself. "Of course."

An hour and a half later, they were still seated in a bustling sandwich shop on California Street. Their food was gone and they both sat comfortably sipping water and talking. Grissom had changed into a casual button-up and khakis, still wonderfully handsome. Bits of silver speckled his curly brown hair and his skin was sun-kissed, eyeglasses discarded so she could see the full spectrum of blue in his irises. He looked much more relaxed than she'd seen him before. She knew he was quite a bit older than her, but the lines in his face seemed to be easing out, giving him a younger appearance.

"I'm glad you could make it. I know it was sort of last minute," Grissom said suddenly after a moment of silence.

Sara swallowed a mouthful of water. "Wouldn't have missed it."

They shared a look, Grissom obviously pleased with her answer. The restaurant suddenly felt far too crowded.

Grissom cleared his throat. "A friend of mine — Dr. James Holstein out of L.A. — he was supposed to speak at the forum but he couldn't make it. He asked me to fill in."

"And you couldn't pass up the opportunity to discuss bite-mark analysis to a captive audience," Sara ribbed, giving him a crooked grin.

Grissom conceded with tip of his head, tossing his hand in the air. "I couldn't pass up the opportunity to come back to San Francisco."

Sara felt a blush creep up her neck. These small comments of his had a way of elevating her. They were infrequent enough that she found herself shocked by them, but he had a way of throwing them at her at least once or twice every conversation they shared. He insinuated and even flirted, but was never overt, keeping her guessing at his actual intentions constantly. She found herself wondering if she was even supposed to feel the way she did about him, knowing so little and having such limited physical interaction.

"It's nice this time of year," she said vaguely. "When do you have to get back to Vegas?"

"Not until tomorrow afternoon."

"Do you have plans?" Sara asked, chewing the inside of her cheek.

He shrugged and locked eyes with her. "You're lookin' at 'em." She was stricken by his candor, but hid her surprise. "If you have time, that is," he added after a moment.

"Sure," she said, keeping her voice light and casual, "I found this great little beach I've been wanting to share with someone… if you want?"

"I'd love to," he answered, his voice suddenly intense and quieter.

They left the restaurant and walked down the street navigating the Saturday crowd on the sidewalk. They stopped at an ice-cream stand and Grissom bought them two cones. Sara couldn't stop asking herself if they were on a date, couldn't get the idea out of her head. It made her feel a little uneasy that she may not even have a definitive answer by the end of the day.

They passed a street vendor selling all types of tourist paraphernalia and Grissom stopped suddenly, a giddy flare in his eyes. He picked up a Kodak disposable camera and paid the vendor. Sara chuckled at him, eyebrow raised.

"I'm feeling a little touristy today," he explained, slipping the camera into his pocket and winking at her. "Now let's see this beach."

The large wooden steps that led down to the beach were sun-beaten and smooth under their feet. They descended slowly, walking closely together, taking in the sunny late afternoon. The final step that dropped off into the sand was steep and Grissom intentionally took it first, holding his hand out for her. She slipped her hand into his and jumped off the step, letting her it sit in his grasp for a moment longer than necessary. He didn't seem to mind, but dropped his hand after a few seconds and put it on the small of her back, leading her ahead of him. Sara shuddered.

The wind pushed the gray-blue water against the rocks wickedly. It was not a beach for swimming, but the sound of the water lapping and splashing against sharp rocks was soothing. There wasn't a soul in sight as they strolled north toward Golden Gate Bridge. It sat in the distance, a sentry towering over them watchfully.

Grissom took out his camera and Sara heard tiny little clicks as he wound the film. He framed a shot of the bridge and snapped a photo. She smiled at him softly, feeling utterly lovestruck.

They continued lazily up the shoreline, silently taking in the sights and sounds of Marshall's Beach. Sara tried not to think of Grissom leaving the next day, tried not to think about the world spinning on without knowing when she'd see him again. Instead, she focused on the view ahead of her, the here and now. A purple shore crab skittered across the glistening sand in front of them and Grissom stopped short, watching it keenly, his eyebrows stitched together in fascination. He bent down and snapped a photo of the tiny crab.

"You act like you've never seen a shore crab before," Sara said.

"In all things of nature there is something of the marvelous," he answered and looked up at her, "Aristotle."

"I suppose so. Even a little shore crab."

The crab ducked behind an algae-laden rock and Grissom stood back up, continuing their walk.

"This is a great view," he said, stopping again. He looked at her, contemplating for a small moment. He beckoned her with his hand and a dip of his head. "Come here for a second."

She walked over to him a curious grin on her face. He took her by the shoulder and situated her so that the bridge and the water were behind her. He joined her side, draping his arm over her shoulders. The contact was stirring and she couldn't stop the wide smile that spread across her face. He held out the camera, lens facing them both.

"Okay, smile." He snapped the photo and she barely registered the winding clicks as he bowed his head, a bashful look on his face.

Her throat felt constricted and dry. She licked her lips and regarded him, a strange electricity suddenly flowing between them. Without thinking she pushed herself forward and kissed him. He didn't respond at first and stood rigid beside her but after a moment, he sunk into it. It was a hurried kiss, mouths closed, but she could taste the sea salt on his lips. She deepened the kiss, raising her hand to rest on his chest. The fabric of his shirt was soft on her palm.

She could have kept going, could have pushed Grissom onto the wet sand underneath them, but she felt a hesitancy from him. His hand rested on her shoulder and she pulled back. His eyes were still closed, mouth slightly parted. He dropped his hand slowly. She didn't know whether or not to feel foolish and time seemed to stop, the sound of her heart in her ears competing with the thundering waves. Damp wind enveloped them and a chill zipped through her, goosebumps rising on her arms.

He opened his eyes and stared at the sand. His silence and ambiguous reaction made her feel awkward, but she couldn't bring herself to regret it. The kiss had confirmed so much for her, that she could only feel thankful for her sudden courage.

"Sorry," she finally said meekly, crossing her arms over her midsection.

He looked up at her alarmed. "No, it's — don't be sorry. I just, um —"

"I can be a bit impulsive. It's a flaw."

Grissom gave a short chuckle. He shook his head, a small smile on his lips. "I'm not sure I'd call it a flaw."

"Well…"

"I'm just… I'm… _not_." His face twitched, his eyes narrowed seriously. She understood, and nodded softly. A group of sandpipers plodded along in her peripheral vision and she turned to watch them race the tide, sprightly dipping their beaks into the sand.

She felt Grissom watching her and hoped he would turn his gaze soon, unable to take the intensity of it. He was the most enigmatic person she'd ever met. As infuriating as it was, it was equally alluring. Her penchant for mysterious men was not lost on her, but she'd never felt this way about someone before. She wasn't sure it was possible to be in love with someone she knew so little about, but if she wasn't in love, she wasn't sure where she was. Because she certainly wasn't in the same place emotionally since meeting him. For months now, she'd been closing herself off to everyone else without any real reason.

She heard Grissom's camera click and she looked over at him. He was taking a photo of the sandpipers, an innocent gleam in his eyes. She shook her head at herself, willing to let the moment pass them by for now.

"Thank you for sharing this with me," he said suddenly, voice husky as he looked out at the slate-colored water. His head turned and his eyes met hers. His expression was heartfelt, but there was a quiet sadness behind it that she couldn't discern.

She smiled sweetly at him and he turned back to the water pensively, his hands sliding into his pockets. Even as he withdrew, retreated deep into his own head, she felt so strongly for him that her chest hurt. She felt a tug on her heart, like the moon pulls the tide, and sighed into it with bittersweet resignation.

 

**_End_ **

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that's it everyone. Thank you so much for reading. I'd absolutely love to her your thoughts. This was hella fun to write and I hated to end it. Zoh well, onto the next project perhaps. I hope you enjoyed it as much as I did!


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